


A Kink in the Armor

by outtabreath



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Anal Beads, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Intercrural Sex, Japanese Rope Bondage, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Pegging, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking, Suspension Bondage, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 94,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8067829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outtabreath/pseuds/outtabreath
Summary: For azure-horizon's Tony/Pepper Kink prompt: "Pepper used to be a sub, and Tony manages to find her trigger word. He doesn't initially understand what happens so he experiments with it a little until he figures it out... then he uses it to his advantage."Basically, a ton of kinky sex, Pepper and Tony feels, Tony Being Tony, and, because it is me, tooth-rotting fluff.Finally cross-posting from Live Journal.





	1. Tony calls Pepper "doll" and something weird happens

“And you cannot show your bare,” she waved a hand vaguely towards where his posterior met the couch cushion, “when a reporter asks you a question you don’t like.”

“It wasn’t bare,” he said half-heartedly, very much in the midst of the fugue-like state he tended to slip into during Pepper’s lectures. “I was wearing _underwear_.”

“With holes in it. Tony, do we need to discuss your net worth again? You can afford new underwear.”

“Those are my lucky ones,” he parried. “I was wearing them the day I hired you.”

She pressed her lips together for several seconds and stared at him, then dropped her eyes to her BlackBerry, calling up his schedule.

When she began to speak again, her voice was less precise than before. “The reporter from _The Washington Post_ will be calling you at four. Please try to keep the focus on Stark Industries’ new Green Project and our collaboration with the wind farm people and _not_ on the suit. She’ll fight you on it, but just keep directing the interview back to the salient points.”

She paused and looked at him, taking in his inattentive eyes, slightly open mouth, messy hair, and said, “I’ll write up some answers for you. Stick to them, please.”

“I will,” he said, because she had stopped talking and that was the safest thing to say into moments of silence.

“You will what?”

He stared at her evenly, trying to remember what she’d been talking about.

“The interview,” she said.

“Right. Of course. The interview with _Rolling Stone_.”

“ _The Washington Post_ , Tony.”

She was rapidly evolving from lecturing to exasperated, which meant that outright anger was just moments away. Tony tried to avoid outright anger at all times – especially when he was still slightly drunk from the night before.

“Can we please just take a break, doll?” he asked because he needed a moment where she _wasn’t talking_. He’d never used a nickname with her – never thought to; she was Pepper or Potts, nothing else – but in that moment, when his thoughts were drifting and he wanted her to _be quiet_ for a minute, he said something to silence her.

The result, however, was astounding. At his request, she stopped with her lecture, pulled her spine even straighter and she said, “Certainly, Master.”

He turned to her, eyes wide, to find that she was doing the same, with the same expression.

“Master?” he asked, grinning brightly. “I like that.”

“That was a joke,” she said, leaning forward and fiddling with her laptop.

“You don’t tell jokes.” 

“I tell them all the time, you just don’t get them.”

“I have a very refined sense of humor,” he protested, instinctively rising to his own defense.

“Of course you do,” she said insincerely. “Usually involving baring your buttocks to the press.”

“My _ass_ ,” he corrected. “And the paparazzi are not the press. They’re vultures, put on this earth to follow me and make my life miserable.”

“Or course they are,” she said soothingly, rising. “Because you never do anything that they’d want to take pictures of. They doctor those pictures – fake them. They’re just awful.”

“They are!” he protested. “I put my life on the line for this planet at least twice a week and they repay me by following me around and trying to catch me doing something wrong.”

“Which you happily do,” she pointed out.

“Once,” he said.

She raised a mocking eyebrow.

“Or twice. Definitely no more than that.”

“Definitely,” she said, moving towards the door. “I’m going to type up some talking points for the interview.”

“Which interview?”

She turned to frown at him, then she pinched the bridge of her nose. “ _Tony_.”

“The one at four,” he said, proud that he remembered. “Which is five hours away. You go type up talking points; I’m going to work in the lab.”

Her eyes flickered over his face, but she nodded her agreement.

Five minutes later he was down in the shop, his mind full of the suit.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Two days later he was working on the hot rod when he was suddenly in the midst a full-on flashback to Pepper calling him Master, her response to something. He lay still, staring up at the chassis and tried to remember what he’d said to her.

Can we just take a break?

He said that to her a hundred times a week, usually in a much more plaintive tone than he’d used that day.

She’d never done the weird disassociation thing before.

_Doll_.

He’d called her _doll_ and her whole demeanor had shifted and she’d called him _Master_.

Tony was, first, foremost and at the very heart of himself, a scientist, and he knew that one occurrence could be random, a coincidence.

This matter needed more research, more data.

He waited until she searched him out with lunch and a list of things he _definitely and immediately needed to do right that very minute_.

“Pepper, I need coffee,” he tried.

“Then go get it,” she said. “I need to talk to you about the renovations on the Paris apartment. The French have absolutely refused to allow you to install a,” she glanced at her notes, “portal that will enable you to fly out of the apartment in less than three seconds.”

“How about one that lets me fly out in ten?”

“They don’t want you installing a portal or flying out of there at all.”

“Install it anyway,” he said, watching her closely, readying to pounce.

“Tony,” she complained, “that will not help endear you to the French government. Do we need to discuss the incident at the Eiffel Tower?”

“Those kids loved it when I landed up there. Hey, doll, get me some coffee.”

“Of course,” she said. She pivoted and headed towards the cappuccino maker; he watched her with great fascination.

_Hypnosis_ , he theorized. _Or something else - something infinitely more fun_.

In the midst of the fourth step she came back to herself; he could tell because her even strides faltered and her left foot came down more heavily than usual. Her shoulders headed towards her ears, but, to her credit, she kept walking. She made him a cappuccino and gave it to him.

“Thanks, Pepper.”

“Will that be all, Mr. Stark?” she asked, refusing to meet his eyes.

_Hell no_ , he thought.

“That’ll be all, Miss Potts,” he replied.

She glanced up at him and she looked dazed. He let her get to the glass doors before he said, brightly, amusedly, “For now.”

Her even stride wavered, but she kept going.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tony Stark had had a lot of sex in his lifetime. A. Lot. Of. It.

But it wasn’t until he started researching what he thought was going on with Pepper that he realized that, despite the sheer volume of his experiences, he’d only ever had vanilla sex.

Sure it was _incredible_ vanilla sex, with lots of people (sometimes with several people at once), but vanilla all the same; after all, he’d never been with one woman long enough to develop the level of trust necessary to have any other kind.

However, Pepper Potts, who Tony Stark had always viewed as some cross between a untouchable paragon of womanhood and a coolly efficient scheduling machine, appeared to have had the very opposite of vanilla sex.

She appeared to have a trigger word, and a trigger word meant that she’d had (or had) a Master, and that meant she was a submissive.

It was a startling idea, an intoxicating, confounding, enthralling one, and it almost undid him.

Pepper tied up, on her knees, bent over any number of surfaces – submitting to the demands of the person she allowed to dominate her.

Dominate her.

The words swirled in his brain and wove around the images he found online. Some of them were wildly arousing and more than once he found himself with his hand working madly, Pepper’s face in his mind, her body stretched out for the taking.

But some of the images were horrifying: bruises, welts, blood; those disturbed him; scared him; enraged him.

The thought of Pepper hurt like that – whether she wanted to be or not – swamped him with protective anger and made him want to crush skulls.

So he concentrated on the titillating images, on the burgeoning dark desire to see her tethered and at his mercy – his tender mercy. He’d be tender with her. He would tease her and taunt her, no doubt – would bend her to suit his will and his body – but he wouldn’t hurt her.

Somewhere in the midst of the fourth day he realized that he wasn’t merely spinning fantasies – he was creating plans.


	2. Tony makes Pepper an indecent proposal and she accepts

For two weeks he backed off, lulled her into a false sense of security. And it worked. After the first week, she was almost back to normal – responding to him instantaneously, no longer editing her responses or thinking through what she was going to say before saying it; by the second she was striding around the mansion, a domineering, acerbic Pepper hurricane.

Which was when he struck.

They were at yet another meeting at SI - this one with Accounting - and he wanted to poke his eyes and ears out with something shiny and sharp. Pepper was sitting next to him, sipping water and paying far too much attention to the figures and projections.

One of the accountants was discussing the latest Air Force audit when Tony leaned close to her and whispered, “Doll, would you give me a shoulder rub?”

She was pushing herself away from the table and preparing to stand before she realized what was happening. She bit her lip and turned to look at him – eyes the color of twilight, wide and tremulous.

He smirked and leaned back in his chair; she sat back down, apologizing to the accountants and digging furrows in the fabric of the arm of the chair with her fingernails.

She bent her head and wrote furiously on the report in front of her, then slid it towards him.

He glanced down.

_STOP IT!_

_Not yet_ , he wrote back.

Her lips compressed to nothingness and she stared fixedly at the far wall.

She was icily silent during the ride home.

Happy had taken one look at her stormy countenance and looked askance at his boss. Tony grinned and ignored her, pulling the chauffeur into a rollicking conversation about the Dodgers and the Lakers.

Happy drove them to the front door. Pepper was out of the car in seconds, her heels practically leaving gouges in the cement walkway.

“Want me to take you somewhere else, boss?” Happy volunteered, looking after her fuming figure. “Give her time to cool down?”

“I’ll be fine,” Tony reassured him. “I’m a superhero, remember?”

“Yeah, but,” Happy looked to the door as it slammed open, “you’re not wearing the suit now. Maybe you should put it on first.”

Tony laughed. “I can take her.”

_And I plan to_ , he thought, the familiar coil of desire heating in his stomach.

“If you say so,” Happy said. “It was nice working for you. I’ll visit you in the hospital.”

“Bring flowers,” Tony requested as he strode to the door. “Roses. Red ones.”

Pepper was pacing the length of the foyer.

“Hey honey,” he said.

“What the fuck, Tony? What the fucking fuck?”

He froze and blinked. He’d never heard Pepper curse before and it was as startling in its own way as the discovery of the nature of her sex life had been.

“Jarvis?” he said cautiously. Maybe it would be a good idea to have some sort of record of this conversation for the doctors that were going to need to put him back together.

“I told him to shut down,” she spit out. “Now answer the question. What the fuck do you think you were doing in there?”

“Maybe we should sit down. Have a drink. Or three.”

She stopped her furious movement and stood very still, her hands in tight fists, her body trembling. “I want an explanation and I want it now.”

He started to regain his equilibrium. “So do I,” he said. “For example, what are you wearing under that prim little suit, Miss Potts? A corset, ropes, nothing?”

She tipped her chin up dangerously. “Whatever it is you think you’re doing needs to stop right now.”

But he couldn’t stop – hadn’t for the last two weeks. What he had learned about Pepper, what he thought he knew about her, had reordered his world. Again.

He moved quickly, crossed to where she was shaking and kept going, crowded into her – pushed her back towards the door. When he had her pressed against it – his arms braced around her, his fingers pressed to the wood, he looked at her and said, “I don’t believe I’ll be doing that. Now I want you to answer _my_ question, doll: what are you wearing under this very conservative, very black suit?”

Her skin flushed and her eyes dilated – he could almost hear her heart pick up speed. “Tony, don’t.”

But he didn’t hear "no", didn’t hear "don’t" or "please". He needed to know, needed it like oxygen or flight or the RT. “Pepper, do you have a Master?”

She hadn’t expected the question and it was clear that she answered without thinking. “Not currently.”

He released a breath he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding. “I want the job.”

She barked out a sharp peal of laughter, gasped, then stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Completely,” he said, dipping his lips towards her left ear. “You need a Master, don’t you?”

She drove her head back, banging it sharply against the door so she could look at him. “You have no idea what you’re suggesting.”

“Yes, I do,” he said, leaning back slightly – enough to see her face, not enough to leave her personal space. “I’m suggesting that you become my submissive.”

“I can’t have this conversation with you,” she mumbled, and he wasn’t sure which of them she was talking to. “I won’t have this conversation with you.”

But Tony was determined to have the conversation with her. He didn’t back off, didn’t back down.

“Why do you do it?” he asked – it was one of the things he wanted most to know – “I mean, _did_ you do it - why did you do it?”

She started and sighed; he could feel some of the fight ebb out of her. “You’re not going to let this drop, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“How about if I answer your questions?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Fine. I did it because sometimes I don’t want to have to think or plan or do. Sometimes I want to just feel,” she said rapidly, her words bleeding together.

“Because of me,” he said softly.

Her eyes snapped to his. “Tony this is not _about you_. It was never _about you_. Look, can we do this…elsewhere?”

“Where?” he asked, kind of hoping she’d say _bed_ or _horizontal_.

Her eyes sharpened and he wondered if she could read his mind – it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d thought it. “The living room.”

He pushed away from the door, refusing to give into the urge to shake his arms and return feeling to them; he didn’t think it was a very Masterly thing to do.

She walked to the couch; he trailed behind her, staring at her ass, wondering what it would look like wiggling and waiting for him.

“Tony!”

“Present.”

“Sit.”

He did and looked at her as she settled on the couch, every inch the Pepper he’d known for a decade – neat, tidy, restrained; except for her eyes, there was a softness to them, a vulnerability he’d only seen a handful of times – all of them since he’d come home.

She rested her hands on her knees and took a deep breath. “Okay. Go ahead.”

“How long?” he started. “No, when was the first time? How submissive are you? When was the last time? Do you have _outfits_? Do you like feathers? What toys do you have? How many Masters have you had? How did it start?”

She raised her eyebrows and said, “Okay. Stop. One question at a time, I think.”

_But I have lots of questions_ he thought – but there was one that had made him the craziest. “When was the last time?”

“The last time I played was six months ago.”

He froze. Six months before he’d been in a cave in Afghanistan.

She realized the moment he did the math and spoke. “You were gone, my life was out of control and I needed something more than me – someone more than me.”

“But you don’t have a Master,” he said weakly.

“There are clubs,” she said.

“Pepper,” he exploded. “You went to a sex club when I was missing? You’re the one who’s always lecturing me about the press. What if the paparazzi had found out? What if the Board or the investors found out? What if Ob…Rhodey had found out? That was some seriously poor judgment.”

She smiled, a small smile, but a genuine one. “Did you enjoy that? Lecturing me?”

He leaned back. “Yeah, actually. I can see why you do it to me all the time.”

“The job does have its benefits,” she conceded. “And to your point, I’m,” she paused, as if trying to find the best words, “ _different_ when I go to a club – my hair, my make-up, how I carry myself…no one recognized me.”

“And before that?”

“Years,” she said. “You tend to eat up my time. My last Master and I parted ways soon after I started working for you.

“Tony, do you know what you’re asking – what this entails?”

“I’ve been researching.”

“Of course you have.”

“And the pictures,” he shook his head wonderingly. “ _Damn_ , Potts.”

She stared at him, eyebrows high on her forehead.

His mouth went dry as he broached the one thing he’d been most worried about, “Not all of them, of course. I’m not really into the whipping thing, but if you are….”

She blanched. “That’s not where my interests lie – my submission involves being ordered, being restrained, being _taken_ – that’s it.”

His head was spinning with a combination of relief that she’d never been hurt and at the thought of _taking_ her.

“Tony, why do you want this?”

He blinked, startled by the question. Why _didn't_ he want to do it? The thought of doing the things he’d been reading about excited him incredibly.

And the thought of doing them to _Pepper_ \- proper, unflappable, cool and efficient Pepper; of seeing her undone, shattered, on her knees, on her stomach for him; at his command, under his orders - made him harder than gold-titanium alloy.

And, he hadn’t had sex since the night before he left for the Middle East. He decided to go with that.

“As you know there haven’t been any _guests_ since I got back.”

“I am aware,” she said acidly.

“You know about it,” he motioned to the RT. “It doesn’t freak you out.”

“It kind of freaks me out.”

“But you can handle it,” he continued. “And you’re not going to take pictures of it and sell them off to the _National Enquirer_.”

“I can handle it,” she agreed, “And I won’t take pictures of it.”

“I don’t think you understand how important that is to me.”

“I think I do,” she murmured, head tipped to the side, eyes boring into his. Finally, she blinked. “And you want to have sex with me.”

“Well, yeah,” he replied, his thoughts swirling to her strapped down to his bed as he worked her over with his deft, skilled fingers “You’re gorgeous and smell good and wear sexy shoes and know everything about me and are still here. Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s not just about sex, Tony. If you lose sight of that, this will never work.”

He suddenly sat up very straight, every ounce of attention focused on the Pepper before him and not the trembling, pleading Pepper of his waking dreams because the real Pepper was starting to sound like she might accept his offer.

“I want to take back a piece of my life – some control,” he pointed out. “You want to give up control and I want to give back a little of what I take from you.”

She nodded, breathing deliberately, her fingers pressing into the skin of her knees.

“Pepper?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Why are you thinking of accepting my offer?”

She smiled weakly and didn’t contradict him. “I think it would do you some good to see how it is to have to put someone else first, take care of their needs before yours – how rewarding it can be – how frustrating and maddening and wonderful.”

He’d read about that, too – every single piece of research on the subject of domination and submission made it very clear who had the _real_ power in the relationship. He’d need to take care of her, plan for her, make sure she was safe and okay.

Pretty much what she did for him all the time.

“No other reason?” he prodded.

Her eyes roamed over his body, taking him in – _ogling_ him – and she colored. “I never said you were unattractive.”

“You want me,” he said, utterly delighted.

Her eyes met his squarely. “Yes.”

The air rushed out of the room and he stared at her, unable to form thoughts, words, breaths.

“We’ll need to discuss this,” she said clearly, firmly.

He nodded eagerly.

“And agree on things.”

“Of course.”

She took a deep breath. “If you make me regret this, I’ll tear you limb from limb.”

“You won’t,” he promised, “regret this or have to tear me limb from limb.”

“Okay then.”


	3. Tony learns that there's always paperwork - especially in D/s relationships

Tony hadn’t realized how much work it was going to be. He’d figured he’d talk Pepper into trying the experiment – because that’s how he thought of it: a sexy experiment with a willing Pepper – and they’d go to town on each other. With restraints and costumes.

But there was _planning_ \- and not _sexy_ planning (she’d refused to even look at the links to Purrfect Pleasures or Frederick’s of Hollywood), but boring planning. And talking. Lots of talking.

“Safewords,” she began at yet another pre-play meeting; they were always held in her office and there was usually something written produced for him to study.

He’d read about safewords – knew they were integral and absolute: go faster, go slow, _stop_. “Green, yellow and red.”

“Pedestrian,” she said.

“Pedestrian?”

She gave him a sly, challenging smile. He’d never been pedestrian in his life and he had no intention of starting with this. “Fine. ‘Board meeting’ is stop.”

“Of course it is.”

“You can choose the other two.”

She swung herself back and forth in her chair and looked him up and down. “‘Hot rod’ is green.”

“What if you want to start calling me hot rod?” he asked playfully.

“I won’t.”

“You might want to start calling Other Tony the Stark Hot Rod once you get a taste of it.” He leaned forward, covering half of her desk with his chest. “And I do mean a _taste_.”

“Lovely,” she said. “And I won’t be coming up with any nicknames for,” she took a deep sustaining breath, “Other Tony. Really? _Other_ Tony?”

“Little Tony would be a total lie,” he said, leaning back in his chair and smiling broadly. “You’ll see. When is that going to be by the way?”

“Soon,” she assured him. “‘Hot rod’ is green – you should easily remember that means speed up.”

“Baby, if you want me to speed up I’ll be more than happy to do it.”

She raised her eyebrow at “baby,” but said, “‘Malibu’ is yellow.”

“Acceptable,” he said.

“What are the safewords?”

“Board meeting means stop; Malibu means slow down; hot rod means speed up.”

“Or more.”

“I like more.”

She closed her eyes briefly, as if she were in pain, then said, “You need to ask me to recite the safewords every time we start to play.”

He’d read about that, too; he nodded and she smiled.

“Limits,” she started.

“I don’t have any.”

“I know that,” she said caustically, “But I do.”

He stilled instantly. She was deadly serious. _This_ was deadly serious. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“How refreshing,” she said, but she smiled. “No corporal punishment.”

“No desire to,” he reminded her. “Are you writing this down?” he asked, realizing that her fingers were flying across her keyboard.

“Of course,” she said briskly. “This is part of the contract.” Seeing his confused look, she clarified, “The contract we both sign and adhere to.”

“That contract. I remember.”

She rolled her head and he could hear the snapping in her neck – she really was way too stressed; she kept typing. “Nothing public.”

“Dinner?”

Her fingers halted and she looked at him sharply. “Like a date?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just co-workers going to dinner after having earth-shattering sex together.”

“Once a month,” she said. “And you’ll keep your hands and dirty comments to yourself.”

“Agreed.”

She started typing again. “No third parties.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. The thought of sharing her with anyone made his stomach twist in an unfamiliar way.

“We’ll play two weekends a month…”

“Or more. I think you’ll want more.”

She paused. “Tony we’re going to be lucky to get two weekends a month. Do I need to remind you that you’re famous, have a multi-national company that you make me run and that you fly around in a metal suit saving the world?

“Twice a month from noon on Saturday to noon on Sunday.”

“Six P.M. on Sunday,” he countered.

“Two.”

“Six.”

“ _Two_.”

“Five.”

“Nine in the morning.”

“You can’t do that,” he protested. “You can’t roll back the time like that.”

“Two, then,” she said, smiling with all of her teeth showing. It was rather intimidating.

“And what if you want more of the Stark Hot Rod?” he asked, not giving in exactly – but realizing that he wasn’t going to win.

She looked him over, mirth sparkling in her eyes. “We can renegotiate the terms of the contract at any time.”

“I can see you wanting to do that after the first weekend,” he said confidently.

“Oh, me, too,” she said insincerely. “What’s my name going to be?”

He shook his head, confused.

She sighed. “I need a name for you to call me when we’re playing. I call you Master and you call me something to separate us from when we’re working.”

“I can’t just call you doll?”

“Definitely not.”

“But that’s a good one.”

“It doesn’t belong to you.”

He looked at her searchingly, his stomach twisting. What she really meant was I don’t belong to you – but she had belonged to someone once and the thought of it did strange, awful things to him.

She cleared her throat delicately and his mind raced, finally settling on something. “Little one. That’s your name. Little one.”

She was fighting a smile – it was an expression he knew well. “ _Little_ one?”

“You’re tiny,” he pointed out. “You have the tiny, petite hands and the miniscule feet. I could fit you in my pocket.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, giving him a once over. “I’m not that little.”

He knew what she was inferring or implying. It was something they’d disagreed on for years. “Listen here,” he protested, “Just because you like to wear towering heels so you can pretend to be taller than me doesn’t mean that you actually are taller than me,” he said defensively.

“But I _am_ taller than you.”

“Jarvis! Pull out your virtual yardstick. Ms. Potts needs to be put in her place.”

“Of course, Sir,” the AI said, sounding remarkably put upon.

Pepper was up and out of her shoes, holding herself very straight and still; Tony did the same as Jarvis measured them.

“Miss Potts is five feet, nine and one-half inches. Mr. Stark is five feet, nine inches.” There was a rushing pause. “I am very sorry, Sir.”

Pepper preened as she inserted herself back into her chair. The triumphant smile prickled at Tony’s bruised ego. “Aren’t you supposed to be nicer to me now?”’

“Nope,” she smirked, rocking back in her chair. “We aren’t playing right now. When you’re Tony and I’m Pepper I get to be as insubordinate as always.”

“And when I’m Master and you’re little one?”

“Then I’m your submissive,” she responded, her face falling into serious lines.

“I think I’m going to like that,” he said.

“If you do it right,” she said softly; then she shook her head, clearing it. “You’ll review the contract and we’ll both sign. I was thinking Saturday.”

“Saturday what?”

“To start, Tony.”

His heart sped up and began pushing all of his blood south. “This Saturday?”

“If the contract is amenable to you, yes. You’ll need to email me on Friday with instructions.”

That part he remembered – from his research and from their discussions. Once they were playing, he was in charge: he had to tell her what he wanted before she came to him; she needed to be prepared and ready for him.

He was ready for it.

They stared at each other for several minutes before she blinked. “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

“That will be all, Miss Potts.”

_Until Saturday_.


	4. Master and little one's first time

On Saturday morning, Tony was out of bed by seven. He ate a nutritious breakfast, worked out for an hour, took a shower, worked on the hot rod, drank a protein shake, took another shower, and waited impatiently for noon.

At 11:30 he started pacing, his bare feet slapping against the floor of the living room as he waited for her to call and cancel. At 11:40 he told Jarvis to project a countdown and he watched the numbers slide away, anticipating the call. At 11:50 he started to realize that Pepper might actually show up. At 11:54 Jarvis sounded the soft chime that told him Pepper had passed through the gates.

“Get rid of the clock,” he demanded as he moved to sprawl on the couch. “And I want you in safety mode.”

“Sir, you’ve never shut me down with Miss Potts in the house before.”

It was like explaining the birds and the bees to a kid. “Look, Miss Potts and I have decided to explore a new aspect of our relationship and I don’t want recordings or video of it…I mean, I _may_ , eventually – maybe even later today – but I don’t think Potts would be okay with that yet – so just go into safety mode, okay. Protect the house, monitor the systems and no interruptions until I wake you back up.”

Jarvis sighed, said, “As you wish, Sir,” and sounded the sharp beep that indicated his compliance.

Tony leaned back against the couch with arms opened wide across the back, legs slightly spread, his very best confident, sexy smile on his face.

Pepper walked in at noon looking for all the world like she was arriving for a day of work. She was, as ordered, wearing a suit, her hair up, Tony’s favorite pair of heels on her feet – the only thing that indicated that she wasn’t actually going to attend a meeting was the fact that her white blouse was unbuttoned halfway to her waist – he could see flashes of pale skin as she moved.

He’d told her to leave the underwear at home and the thought that under that severe suit she was naked for him went straight to his groin. He shifted a bit and questioned the wisdom of wearing jeans for their first session together.

She stood in the middle of the living room, eyes down, hands at her side – just like she’d been told to.

“What are the safewords, little one?” he prompted.

“Board meeting is stop; Malibu is slow down; hot rod is go faster,” she replied, her voice pitched lower, her tone softer than usual.

“Hot rod is also more,” he clarified.

She nodded. “Or more, Master.”

He’d been unprepared for the jolt that accompanied her use of the title. His stomach tightened and an electric shock coursed through his body. He was on his feet and prowling towards her before his brain caught up with his body.

He was starting to see the allure of this lifestyle.

When he was toe-to-toe with her, he said, “Look at me.”

She complied, her blue eyes deeper and softer than he’d ever seen them. He held her gaze as he unpinned her hair and ran his fingers through the soft strands.

“I’ve always loved your hair,” he said conversationally, winding pieces of it around his fingers and tugging gently until her head was back and her neck craned up at him. “And your neck is incredible. You can be very distracting sometimes, you know.”

She didn’t respond.

“You do know, don’t you?” he asked again.

More silence.

Then Tony realized. A submissive _always_ answered questions about safewords – otherwise, they waited until given permission to speak.

A Pepper Potts that couldn’t speak until allowed to. The thought was heady and off-putting and terrifying in equal measure.

“Until I tell you otherwise, you are to answer me when I ask you a question,” he said gruffly, tracing the long line of her neck with his free index finger. “Now, I ask you again – do you know how fucking distracting you can be?”

“I have never tried to distract you, Master – but it excites me to know that I have.”

“You’re kind of a tease, Potts.”

She shifted a bit, consternation emerging in her eyes before she could hide it.

Tony instantly recognized that he’d made another mistake. Right now they weren’t Tony and Pepper, they were Master and little one. He wasn’t sure he could remember that at all times.

_How the hell do people do this_? he asked himself as he looked into her familiar face; then he answered his own stupid question, _By not starting it with people they’ve known for a decade, genius_.

She was staring at him, _reading_ him, because, as well as he knew her, she knew him even better. She breathed out, then relaxed against him, her body pressing against his. Every single one of his neglected nerve-endings raced to life and he acknowledged that even if his mind wasn’t fully ready, his body sure as hell was.

He could do this. She was a woman and he knew what to do with women. Even women named Pepper.

“Kiss me,” he prompted, watching avidly as her eyes slipped closed and she brought her lips to his.

Her lips slid over his, gently, chastely; that wasn’t going to work for him, he wanted _more_.

He tipped his head, forcing hers back even further and his fingers came up, digging at her lips until she opened them for him. He ran his tongue around the inside edges of her open lips, rimming her mouth. He watched her eyelids flicker in response, watched the color rise on her cheeks.

Then his tongue slid into her mouth and his eyes closed, involuntarily, as he set about to lap at every soft, sensitive millimeter within.

Pepper tasted amazing; minty and lemony and not at all spicy like he’d expected.

He knew her mouth – knew how it looked when she was happy and sad and completely furious with him. He could read the smallest quirk of the lips, the minutest of purses – could clearly remember how she would sink her teeth into her bottom lip when she was actively suppressing a thought she wanted to keep to herself – knew what seeing the line at the left side meant, what the one at the right denoted. Now he knew how it tasted, knew the slip and slide and curve of it.

He tipped her head back further, slid his tongue in as far as he could, tasting that back of her mouth. She bucked up at him and he deepened the kiss again.

Kissing Pepper was too good, too intoxicating and he was dangerously close to getting lost in her mouth, in the way her tiny hands fisted in the collar of his t-shirt, the way she pressed her body into his, into the little sounds she made, low and deep in her throat.

He wrested his mouth away from hers. “Okay. I think my bedroom, _now_.”

She nodded and took a step back, waiting for him to lead the way. He did so, in huge strides, losing clothes as he went, determined to get the two of them into his bed as quickly as possible.

Inside, he spun and fell back as she stood at the foot of the bed, still fully dressed, hair tangled, lips red and swollen from their kiss.

He wanted a picture of her – a portrait or a painting – to look at when she was being particularly annoying and difficult with him – to remind him that Pepper Potts, prim, proper, unfailingly professional Pepper Potts, could look as stunned and abandoned and wanton as anyone else.

“I really do like this look on you,” he noted. “But I want to see you – all of you. I think it’s time for you to take your clothes off.”

She dropped her eyes and wordlessly complied, slipping off her jacket, her blouse, her skirt.

He took a deep breath and looked her up and down, drinking in the pale expanses of her perfect skin. “I always knew you were gorgeous, but… _God_.”

Pink flamed across her chest and neck; Potts liked to be complimented, who knew?

“Look at me,” he prompted. Her eyes came up, soft and incredibly warm.

He stretched out. “And how do I look?”

‘Delectable.” There wasn’t a hint of shyness in her response; seconds later, her head was down and she said, quietly, meekly, “You are a very attractive man, Master and I am honored that you allow me to look upon you.”

He wondered if she was serious with the self-deprecating stuff, then decided he didn’t give a ripe shit – they were both naked and he was horizontal and she should be.

“Come here,” he prompted.

She fell forward in a graceful arc, ending on her hands and knees; she crawled up the bed, up the length of him, before falling to her side next to him.

“I think I’ll need to see that at least a hundred more times,” he observed.

She smiled.

“But _later_.”

He rolled on top of her, pressed her into the mattress, kissed her again, oh God, kissed her again – got lost in her mouth within seconds and for long moments before his body started to clamor for more substantial pleasure.

He removed his mouth from hers and moved his big hands down, positioned her hips, hoped she was wet and slid forward.

She was wet, incredibly so – and intensely hot and, holy God, tight – tighter than anyone he’d felt since his first adolescent fumblings decades before.

He stopped and breathed and wondered if he was imaging the sensations, wondering if being with a woman, any woman, after so many months and so much sheer alteration of his life and psyche was affecting him, making him think things and feel things that were impossible; after all, how could Pepper feel so incredibly good?

Her eyes were enormous and her face flushed with arousal and…impatience; the second was an expression he knew very well.

“You want me to move you, don’t you?”

“If you wish to,” she said, her words slow and deliberate, her face falling into relaxed lines – submissive and patient once more.

He shifted, moving without providing her friction – trying to position the RT so it wouldn’t hurt her. “What if I wanted to stay just like this?”

“It would please me to serve you so, Master,” she ground out.

In a single insane moment he wanted her to tell him what she really wanted – but that wasn’t the game, definitely not the agreement.

“You are here for that, aren’t you?” he asked instead, right at the beginning of what he knew were his last few seconds of rational thought. “To serve me.”

“In any way,” she panted; he could hear her fingers scratching at the linens beneath them.

“I’m going to move now,” he announced.

She bit at her lip and said, “Yes, Master.”

“Hang on.”

And then he drove out and back into her and yes, she was really that tight and he wondered how much she’d really done this because it couldn’t have been a lot, really, and retain that tightness – but then she moved and, fuck, she was good – she knew how to move – practiced, skilled, _Pepper_.

He set a punishing pace that she met, her feet braced on his bed, her hips driving up to meet his thrusts and it was going to be over far too soon for him.

“Legs around my waist,” he ground out. He’d be able to prolong it if he was in complete control of their movements.

Those legs – the ones he’d been watching for years – came up and encircled and squeezed and he knew he was hitting her clit on every down thrust from the way her eyes closed, her face tightened, her whimpers became moans.

His eyes closed, his hips moving, he tried to stave off his climax. Tony Stark may have been a selfish man, but he was not a selfish lover – it was something he’d always prided himself on.

Then her small hands, her wicked fingernails found the sensitive creases at the base of his ass – found where his buttocks became his legs and dug in and all of if it, the tightness, the practiced skill, the sheer overload of her Pepper-ness pushed him over the edge and he came, gasping and exploding and….

She was still beneath him, still tight and wet and panting and undulating – eyes screwed shut, fingers twisted into the sheets. He touched her clit with practiced fingers and she shrieked and whimpered but didn’t come.

What the hell?

He did it again and she twisted her face into the pillow and moaned, biting at her lip, holding her breath, her body rigid against his.

Another realization, another error: he hadn’t given her permission to come.

“Holy shit,” he breathed out, incredibly impressed by her control, he ability to stave off climax in the face of his superior skills.

“Come for me, baby,” he said in her ear. “I want to see it.”

And she did, in great, gasping cries and spasms – her body shaking beneath his rapturously, convulsing around him, pulling at his dwindling flesh and calling it back to life.

He watched with fascination as the face he knew better than his own became transformed into something alien, something other.

This was Pepper when she was undone by sex and passion and _him_.

He _really_ liked this side of her.


	5. Master needs his little one in the middle of the night

In the predawn hours of Sunday, Tony bolted awake, longing and needful despite the fact that he’d had Pepper five times between her delivering herself to him and when he’d finally sent her, stumbling, to her bedroom just after midnight.

“Jarvis, get up!”

“Sir?” the AI said, sounding grumpy.

“I need you to wake up Miss Potts.”

“Sir, Miss Potts doesn’t like being disturbed,” Jarvis counseled.

“Do you remember that I told you Miss Potts and I are exploring a new aspect of our relationship?” Tony prompted.

“Yes,” the AI replied, coming dangerously close to sounding pissy. “The aspect that necessitates my being shut down for long periods of time.”

“Exactly,” Tony replied. “And, because of that, Miss Potts will not be upset with either of us if you wake her up right now.”

“Sir, why isn’t Miss Potts in your room? All the others were.”

Jarvis sounded truly curious and Tony cursed himself for building a computer that wanted to learn because it was 3 A.M and he was horny and the last thing he wanted to do was have a talk about dominant bees and submissive birds with a computer – even if he’d built it.

“Miss Potts prefers to sleep in her own room but she will be more than willing to return to mine if you ever get around to calling her, so just. Wake. Her. Up.”

“Certainly, Sir,” Jarvis said. “Though I wish to state that, if she asks, I will inform Miss Potts that this was your idea entirely.”

“Understood,” Tony smirked, lying back in his bed, stretching luxuriously. The submissive bed thing, he decided, was both a blessing and a curse. On the positive side, he didn’t have to cuddle or talk or hide in the workshop to avoid cuddling and talking; on the other hand, it meant that he had to wait for Pepper to make herself available to him. Tony had never been good at waiting, especially when he knew that what he was waiting for was so much fun to play with.

Five minutes later, Pepper shuffled through the door – the nightgown he’d made her wear rumpled, rubbing at her eyes like a child. “You needed me, Master?”

“Come here, little one,” he said, patting the bed beside him.

She complied, settling herself into the circle of his arms, stretching out beside his prone body. He kissed her gently and she leaned into his mouth, sighing softly and sleepily.

Maybe he was being too hard on her – maybe he should send her back to bed and let her rest.

She shifted slightly and the silky fabric of her lingerie brushed against his naked skin, her tits pressed against his arm and her nightgown brushed against his half-hard cock.

Maybe he should take her again.

He pulled away from her lips and tipped her chin up so he could see her eyes in the light from the RT. “Are you tired?” he asked

“Not too tired to meet your needs,” she replied.

“Sore?” he asked, touching her gently between her legs. “I rode you pretty hard today.”

“I’m a little sore, Master,” she admitted, lowering her eyes as if she was ashamed of the weakness.

“But I need you again,” he mused. “What can I do about that?”

“Whatever you see fit.”

He had a very good idea of what he wanted to do.

“I’m going to need lube,” he prompted. “Is there any in the house?”

Part of her job pre-Afghanistan had been to make sure the goodie drawer in his guest room was well-stocked; since his return, the guest room had been emptied and the contents moved to…he didn’t know, but he was pretty sure she did.

She rose without looking at him and padded towards his closet, emerging moments later with a bottle of Sliquid that looked brand new; her hand was shaking a bit. It intrigued him – he was pretty sure he knew where her thoughts were headed and he wondered if she was she afraid or hopeful?

_Hopeful_ would open up a whole new world of play possibilities.

“Come here,” he prompted, moving to lie on his side. “Put your back against my chest.”

She did as he’d ordered, pressing herself against him.

“This is in the way,” he mused, tugging at the bottom of the gown and pushing it up to her belly button. She wriggled to help the passage of the fabric, bumping her ass against his groin.

He was pretty sure she’d done it on purpose.

Curiouser and curiouser.

He opened the bottle and oiled his fingers, inquisitiveness derailing his plans momentarily. He brushed his slick fingers against her ass, and then between the cheeks. She made a whimpering noise and pushed into his fingers.

The confirmation of his suspicions hit Tony like a thunderbolt.

Damn, she just kept surprising him.

“Not tonight,” he whispered into her ear, circling the small, tight hole softly. “Soon, though, if you like it. You do like it don’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” she confirmed, her voice strangled.

“You are incredible,” he said, nipping at her earlobe. “Fucking, insanely incredible.”

She shivered. “Thank you, Master.”

“Now, since you’re so _sore_ and _tired_ , I’m going to give you a break,” he said, wanting to push her a little – see how much control she really had. “I’m going to use your body to pleasure myself, but you are not to come. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice tight and body tense.

He hummed into her ear, moving his fingers between her legs, down several inches below her sex – there, he began to grease her – spreading lube, more and more of it, until she was slippery and slick.

She was very still, her breathing hitching in a pattern he was becoming very familiar with: turned on Pepper had a three short breaths/two long breaths rhythm. 

He was ready, she was prepared and he slid forward, between the slippery softness of her thighs – almost as tight and as wet as being inside of her, less chance of him hurting her with wild thrusts – she made a small, strange sound and he stopped. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“No, I haven’t,” she said, and it was Pepper’s voice – the Pepper who directed his life while in heels, with a BlackBerry in one hand and a laptop in the other; not the Pepper who called him Master and kept her eyes lowered – and hearing it in his bed, with his hard cock between her thighs and his hands on her drove him just that further into overwhelming need.

“Surprised, aren’t you?”

“You are an adept and skilled lover,” she said, back to her perfectly submissive self. “You constantly surprise me, Master.”

He chuckled and kissed the back of her neck and began to thrust, slipping along the skin of her legs. She tightened her muscles, pressing on his cock and it was good, so, so good. He groaned, moving as hard and fast as he wanted and needed. Her fingers were clutching at his arm where it banded her waist, her body tight with tension against his.

He drank her in – every little quiver, every time her nails dug into his arm, every whimper he pushed out of her – until he let it all overwhelm him, until he let everything became perfectly white and ringing.

He was taking heaving breaths against her back sometime later, the RT bumping against her spine. “I’ve made a mess of you, haven’t I?” he asked, trying to sound contrite and completely failing.

Messing her up had become his new favorite thing ever.

“Yes, Master. But I like it.”

He nuzzled the back of her neck, sleepy now that the urge that had woken him had been satisfied.

“So do I, little one. Kiss me, then go to bed,” he told her. “You can wash yourself if you wish, but no touching – no coming. I don’t need to get Jarvis to watch you, do I?”

“No, Master,” she said softly before kissing him gently, her lips moving over his delicately, her small hands cradling his chin. He was asleep before she was gone from him.


	6. Tony and Pepper - back at the office

Just after three on Monday afternoon, Happy and Tony pulled up in front of Stark Industries.

“You’re sure you want to go in?” the chauffeur asked again.

“I’m fine,” Tony reassured him. “Good.”

“Miss Potts doesn’t like it when you drink during the workday,” Happy pointed out.

Tony tried not to roll his eyes and he definitely didn’t say what he was thinking, which was: _She’s going to be too busy thanking me profusely for pleasuring her so proficiently to notice that I kind of smell like tequila and citrus_.

“It was only one tequila shot,” he said instead, a bit defensively - he wasn’t drunk; slightly buzzed, perhaps; definitely happy and relaxed.

“Four,” Happy corrected gently.

“A couple,” Tony disagreed. “No more than three and it was over the course of hours. And I was eating. Food. Lots of food. You were there, too. There were tacos and burritos and pretty waitresses and chips and I cleaned my entire plate. Miss Potts likes it when I eat food – she tells me I don’t do it enough.”

“But….”

“Besides, she’s been texting and calling and I need to go over the results of the very important meeting that covered topics that are very crucial to the future of the company that funds her paycheck and your paycheck.”

“She said it was a play date,” Happy said, then immediately looked horrified with himself.

“It was a very important meeting with R&D and Rhodey,” Tony disagreed.

“Of course it was,” Happy said soothingly.

“It’s not my fault that Rhodey and the R&D guys got hungry and thirsty around lunchtime, is it?”

“No, boss. Not your fault at all.”

“Or that they wanted Mexican food and you can’t have Mexican food without tequila?”

“It’s like a law or somethin’,” Happy agreed.

“And Rhodey said I was totally sober.”

“The Colonel had five shots,” Happy reminded him. “We dropped him off at home and he was puking in his roses. I’m going back to check on him.”

“I only had two…”

“Five.”

“Three shots and, unlike Platypus, I can totally hold my tequila. I’ve had _practice_.”

Happy nodded enthusiastically – too enthusiastically – and Tony wondered if he should be mad at him for doing it; after several seconds of thought, he decided to chalk it up to Happy being supportive and let it go.

“So, I’m going in,” Tony announced.

“You’re the boss, boss.”

“In all things,” he grinned, thinking about Pepper calling him Master, giving him a blowjob at breakfast, letting him eat cheeseburgers and making him pancakes without complaining. It was damn good to be the boss and even better to be The Master.

“Want me to come in with you?” Happy volunteered.

“Nope. I’m fine. Good,” Tony said. “Go make sure Jimmy isn’t passed out in his roses and slowly bleeding to death from thorn-related trauma. I’ll call when I’m ready to go home.”

Happy nodded, his blunt face still full of concern.

Tony got out of the car and opened the large glass doors, smiled at the front desk guard and headed out towards Pepper’s office – practically bouncing with anticipation, ready to be lauded for his superior skills and astounding performance over the weekend.

Pepper’s office was neat, her desk was covered in paper and her head was bent down over her computer. She glanced up as he entered, said, “Finally. I need you to go over some numbers for me before we send them off to the DOD,” shook a dauntingly thick pile of papers at him and promptly returned her attention to her computer.

Tony was adaptable; he was smart and quick and mostly sober and not used to being dismissed by women he’d just had sex with – even women named Pepper.

“Isn’t there anything else you want to say to me?” he prompted.

She frowned at him. “Hurry?”

He sunk down into her visitor’s chair and stared at her. Maybe he’d had some sort of full-body, full-on psychotic break which made him think Pepper had had her mouth on his cock, which made him remember plunging into her again and again…there was no other explanation for her behavior.

“Tony,” she huffed. “Snap out of it.”

“Snap out of what?” he blinked.

“This weekend was wonderful and yes, it’s hard to concentrate on work – but we need to because I didn’t expect you to be fooling around with your buddies in R&D for four hours and the _US Government_ wants these numbers _today_.

“So will you please, for the love of _God_ , look over the spreadsheets so I can send them off to Patterson before she sends me another email and I’m forced to drop her off the continental shelf?”

“So you _do_ remember,” he grinned.

Her frown deepened. “Of course I remember. How much have you had to drink?”

“One tequila shot. An hour ago.”

She leaned back in her chair and pinned him with an incredulous look.

“And another shot. Two hours ago.”

She sighed. “Look, I know you’re an idiot savant when it comes to numbers, but I need you to be lucid enough to really check these. Can you do that?”

“Sweetheart, I could do it if I’d been drinking for _days_.”

“Which you have in the past,” she mumbled, looking down at her desk again.

“Not in months,” he pointed out. “I want to talk.”

Her head came up and she looked even more harried, but he was a man on a mission.

“About what exactly?” she asked hesitantly.

“The drawer,” he smirked. Five minutes after she’d left on Sunday he’d been in his closet, searching for it – insanely curious to see if it contained more than just lube. He’d stared mindlessly at the contents for close to three minutes when he found it; he then spent another ten minutes going through it. “Obviously you did look at those links I sent you.”

She colored slightly. “Of course I did. The proper equipment is essential to good sessions.”

“Proper equipment,” he said slowly, as if savoring the words. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Tony,” she said, a note of warning in her voice.

He leaned forward so he could rest his elbows on her desk and his chin in his hands. “I don’t know what some of that stuff even is.”

She leaned forward and mirrored his pose. “Then I guess you have more research to do _after_ you review the spreadsheets for me.” She sat back and shook the papers at him again.

He rolled his eyes at her. “I thought it would be different.”

“What would be different?” she asked on a sigh.

“This,” he motioned between the two of them. “I thought you’d be nicer to me – that you wouldn’t snark at me or tell me how I was going to ruin your life, my life, my dad’s company and, quite possibly, the entirety of existence.”

“I haven’t said that in two months,” she pointed out. “And things were never going to be different other than the fact that we’ve now seen each other naked….”

“Yeah we have.”

She looked pained, but continued speaking, “And we’ve had sex with each other.”

“Incredible sex.”

“Yes, it was lovely,” she said dismissively, looking pointedly at the pile of papers she was pushing towards him.

“ _Lovely_?” he demanded, his ego bruised.

“Exquisite, delightful?” she tried.

“It was sex, not a garden party.”

“Wonderful, satisfying?”

“Potts, you’re _killing_ me here.”

“Fine,” she said, with the air of someone about to undertake a particularly arduous task. “It was ridiculously hot and you’re extraordinarily sexy and the Stark Hot Rod is incredibly hard and big and perfect and you know just what you’re doing with it and, for that, I am very thankful.”

“Do you mean it?” he demanded.

She gave him a blazing, genuine smile. “Every single word.”

“Potts!” he said, trying to sound shocked.

“Get to work, boss,” she prompted, shooing him away. “And take the numbers with you.”

Satisfied, Tony grinned, picked up the papers and dutifully went to work.


	7. little one models The Blue Dress for her Master

The second weekend started with Pepper in the blue dress and kneeling upright in the middle of the living room.

He stood six feet away from her, regarding her, drinking her in. “So good to see you again, little one,” he began. “What are our safewords?”

She ran through them quickly, each one a single breath: Board meeting, Malibu, hot rod.

He circled her, idly lifting up a curl between two fingers, running a diffident finger across her cheek, gently scratching the perfect part of her hair. “You are to be quiet unless I ask you a question and you’re not come until I tell you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good,” he purred, continuing to walk around her – touch her randomly. “Do you have any idea what I wanted to do with you on that balcony?” he asked.

“No, but I’d like to hear it, Master,” she replied.

“But I think you _do_ know,” he countered, tugging on one glossy curl. “I’m going to ask you again. What do you think I wanted to do to you that night on the balcony?”

“You wanted to bend me over the railing and take me.”

He leaned down, his lips against the pliable cartilage of her ear. “No. I wanted to kiss you.”

She shivered and her head jerked, as if she was going to look at him.

_Pull it the fuck together, Stark_ , he thought. _You’re her Master, not her suitor_.

He straightened instantly and started pacing around her again. “But that was before I learned that you wanted me – before I figured out that you _would have_ let me bend you over and take you and now it’s all I want to do: hear you keening, see you shaking as I make a mess of you in the dress I bought for you.

“Stand up.”

She did – nowhere near as gracefully as she usually moved; the dress was _tight_.

Once she was on her feet, he positioned himself behind her and ran his fingernails – carefully scrubbed clean of every single bit of dirt and grease – along the beautiful muscles of her back. She shook silently. He scratched her skin gently, being very careful not to break the skin or leave marks on the perfect canvas of her back. She shook harder. He picked up the heavy mass of her hair, swung it over her shoulder so he could run nipping kisses from the base of her skull right down to where the dress actually covered her skin. The satin rustled as she wound her fingers against it, staving off any forbidden vocalizations.

Done with her back for the moment, he straightened and pressed himself flush against her, the RT pressing against her spine, his fingers tight on the bare skin of her biceps.

“Whatever am I going to do with you today, little one?”

“Anything,” she responded breathlessly.

“As long as I’m very careful with the dress,” he mused, nuzzling into her hair and against her cheek. “I promised you.”

No response; he hadn’t asked a direct question.

“Maybe I should just keep you here, like this, all day. You wouldn’t mind doing that would you?” he asked, letting go of her so he could pace and circle again.

“I will do whatever you desire, Master,” she answered.

Tony hummed, low and deep in his throat, and went to sit on the couch, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped and supporting his chin. He stared at her for a long time – trying to look as if he were turning over options and ideas. He wasn’t. He’d taken a pleasant hour planning the scene.

“I want you to come here,” he said finally, tapping the inside of his thighs to show her where he wanted her most.

She walked to him, much more slowly than her usual bustling gait – her hips sliding and shimmying hypnotically.

She stopped between his legs and he reached up, pulled her face down to his – finally kissed her in the blue dress.

Her fingers slid and dug into his shoulders as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer. He could tell she was straining to remain upright and he liked the way her body shook against his with the effort.

Finally, he let her go and she straightened, looked down into his face – her eyes impossibly enormous.

“You’re beautiful,” he noted, laying a palm against her stomach. “It pleases me.”

She made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sniff. Tony bit back a grin at such a characteristically Pepper response and looked up at her. Her face was placid, her eyes innocent.

“Are you wearing panties today?”

“Yes.”

“Take them off. Now.”

She obliged immediately, fumbling with the long skirt, hands busy under the material, wriggling her hips and legs in a way that was mesmerizing.

After several moments of concerted effort, she stepped out of her underwear and bent over to retrieve them. She held them uncertainly in her hands and waited for instruction.

“Are they wet?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. Pepper was deliciously responsive. She’d probably been ready since she walked in the door.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what, little one?”

“Yes, my panties are wet.”

“And what does that mean?”

“That I want you,” she said baldly, her voice firm and strong – momentarily she was Pepper again; then her breath caught and her eyes went down.

Tony’s breath hitched – the brief moments she lost control were as arousing as the long periods in which she didn’t.

“Get rid of them,” he demanded, pointing imperiously some feet away from them. “Throw them there. You’ll get them later.”

She threw them away and the black scrap landed with a soft slide against the wood.

“You’re still taking Pilates, aren’t you?” he asked unnecessarily. He’d checked her calendar when he’d been planning for the session – the instructor came to the house or SI twice a week.

The thought of flexible Pepper had distracted him so badly he’d almost burned his hand on the Bunsen burner.

“Yes, Master.”

“And you’re nice and bendy?”

“I believe so.”

“You better _hope_ so,” he said, pitching his voice low and dangerous; he was rewarded by her tremble of anticipation. He stood, pushing his body flush with hers. “I promised to be careful with the dress and I have an idea of how to keep it nice and clean while I fuck you senseless; let’s hope you were honest about keeping up with Pilates.”

Her lips parted and her rapid breaths fanned over his face and he kissed her again, pushing her backwards a few feet.

“Turn around and bend over,” he ordered languidly. “Hands on your ankles, please.”

Her chin tipped up a fraction, then she complied and, damn, she was exquisitely bendy.

He fumbled with his button flies, freeing his rigid cock from painful imprisonment. “I saw a picture of a woman doing this on the Internet,” he said, his tone as conversational as if they were talking about baseball or where to order dinner, but his hands pushing and shoving at the fabric of her dress, moving it up, around her hips. “And I knew that I wanted to see you do it – I knew you’d look a hundred times sexier.” He nudged at her legs and she carefully shuffled them apart, her hands never straying from her ankles.

“I love it when I’m right,” he said, thrusting up and forward and entering her in one exquisite hot, wet slide. Her body shook against his, her heels moving on the hardwood with a sexy shuffle, her hair brushing against the floor. “And I was right,” he continued, holding her hips tightly, trying to help her keep her balance while he pounded up at her. “Wasn’t I little one?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, all of the sounds she’d been holding back folded into that one syllable.

“I’m ready for you to make sounds for me,” he decided. “And to come – but not before I do. Got it?”

“I do, Master,” she moaned, her head and hair thrashing, her legs shaking, the muscles on her back stretching away from him – tensing beautifully. He let the sensations flood him, crash over him, speed his movements until he was moaning himself, wordless sounds – remembering at the last moment not to call her Pepper.

Then she cried and trembled all around him, waves of wet tension pulling at his flesh. He pulled her up, resting that back against his pounding chest – oblivious to his leaving her body in the mad desire to taste her neck, her jaw, her lips.

Panting, she craned her mouth to meet his.

Breathless minutes later, he released her and spun her in a tight circle. The dress looked fine – rumpled, but free of the organic discharge for which she’d put a heel through his temple on Monday.

“Well, that went well,” he announced, grinning happily.


	8. Master and little one find new things to do in the workshop

He’d been talking for close to an hour about upgrades and flight times with Pepper sitting on the desk – right where he’d put her – listening to him, a smile fixed on her face, her eyes trained on him; her legs swinging.

He pulled up another simulation and pointed out just where his brilliance had dramatically improved the speed of the suit and taken care of the pesky friction problem.

“Do you see what I did there?” he asked.

She nodded fervently. “I do, Master. It was an inspired idea.”

“Damn straight,” he agreed, turning back to her. He liked having Pepper listen to him about the suit; she never did it – saying she didn’t have the time to listen to him blab or that she wasn't interested in his hobby or, on one particularly memorable occasion, that she’d rather spend the time picking out funeral plots and coffins because that’s where the suit was going to put him.

She leaned back slightly and the button-down she was wearing – one of his – gaped open slightly.

He was pretty sure it had been completely buttoned up seconds before.

“Little one?” he asked, his voice and sweats suddenly tight. “Did you unbutton that shirt?”

“Of course not, Master,” she said, completely innocent, guilelessness rolling off of her in waves. “You didn’t tell me to.”

“Are you sure about that?” he pressed on, placing his hands on the desk on either side of her thighs and leaning into her slightly.

“I would never lie to you,” she said, her voice dripping with honesty.

“ _Sure_ you wouldn’t.” He dropped back into his chair and looked up at her. And the thing was, he wasn’t sure that she was lying. He’d dressed her himself before they’d come down to the lab but had found buttoning the material up over her skin to be so unexpectedly, unaccountably, sexy, he’d pushed up the shirt and ravished her.

After they’d both come, panting and gasping and fucking _shaking_ , he’d had her kneel at his feet and put on his sweatpants – her fingers had migrated to the RT, touching it with something akin to wonder. He’d left the bedroom without a shirt and without checking the state of hers.

He drank her in – sex-rumpled hair, his shirt, peeks of pale skin and freckles, kiss-reddened lips – and wanted more.

“What are you wearing under my shirt?” he asked – even though he knew the answer.

“Nothing,” she replied.

“Mmmm. Why don’t you show me,” he prompted. “Spread those pretty thighs of yours.”

She obliged and he stared at the soft pink skin, the golden red hair.

“So gorgeous,” he mused, then looked at her chest. “How about there?”

She unbuttoned a few more buttons and slowly slid the shirt open.

Fucking spectacular breasts.

“Why aren’t you wearing underwear, little one?”

“Because you didn’t put panties on me, Master,” she pointed out, her hands sliding back down to grip the edge of the desk, the skin white from the strain.

“That was very forgetful of me, wasn’t it?” he grinned, looking up at her face – she was flushed, her pupils were huge with desire, her lips were parted.

“I don’t mind,” she said, her voice warm.

"I’m sure you don’t, my naughty little one,” he said, leaning back slightly, she swayed forward, almost as if she were pulled by him – the movement gave him a tantalizing glimpse of her pinkest, most fun parts.

“Why don’t you touch yourself?” he prompted laconically. “Touch yourself like you like for me touch you.”

Her fingers loosened from their death grip against the desk and migrated unerringly to the buttons of her blouse. Steadily, staring at him, she traced against the skin of her breasts, leaving faint red marks in her wake, her tawny nipples pebbling up at the weight of his fascinated gaze and the scrape of her nail. One set of fingers started to pinch, softly, then harder, then harder still and her breathing picked up.

The other set of fingers slid lower still, sliding between her legs. He watched with utter absorption as she slid her fingers across slick skin – he wondered how long she’d been wet – lightly, with long strokes. She made little whimpers and intoxicating gasps.

She bit her lip and drove into her body with one finger, then two, then three, her thumb moving over her clit in some rhythm unique to only her. The wet sounds grew louder and she threw her head back, moaning almost continually. The hand she’d been using to pinch her nipples fell with a slap against the desk, squeezing the edge, the knuckles white, the nails scratching at the varnish.

“Please,” she began to whimper. “Please let me, Master. Please.”

“Go ahead then,” he said, languorously – as if he wasn’t hard and half-crazed and didn’t want to see her climax more than anything.

And then she came, crying out tremulously, her whole body going rigid, a violent rush of red spreading across the exposed skin of her chest and up her throat; he watched avidly – enjoying the view.

She collapsed back onto the desk, chest heaving, legs shaking and it took every bit of his hard-won willpower to not climb on top of her and pound into her vibrating, over-sensitized body until the desk collapsed beneath them both.

Instead, half rising, fumbling at his pants, he yanked them down and wrapped his fingers around his cock - the hard, dry friction painfully wonderful.

“Little one,” he demanded. “Sit up. Now.”

She was still in the throes of the aftermath of her orgasm, but she obeyed, forcing her body upright.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice quavering with need. “Watch me touch myself.”

“Of course, Master,” she said, her voice soft and dreamy – her eyes even softer, dreamier.

Then he was slicking himself with his pre-cum, biting his lip and jerking his hips into nothingness, his eyes fixed on her face. It was a matter of five stokes, maybe six, brutal and hard and he was coming and calling her name.

“Pepper. Pepper. Pepper.”


	9. Tony and Pepper review The Contract

He ignored the meeting alert three times before Jarvis got in on the act. “Sir, Miss Potts said you are to come to her office right now.”

Tony, elbow-deep in the metal and wires and grease the constituted the guts of the Mark V, replied, “Tell Miss Potts that I am not leaving this to go review a contract she is more than capable of reviewing herself. When it’s been through legal and ready for me to sign she can just bring it to me like she always does.”

There was a pregnant pause before Jarvis tried again. “She has asked me to inform you that this is an important matter.”

He’d been in the shop since she’d left. He was tired and cranky and the repairs were not going well – not that he’d ever admit to any of it – and he was not in the mood.

“She thinks everything is important. Tell her I’ll be up before she leaves for the day.”

“Is this a further example of your new relationship?” Jarvis asked.

“No,” Tony retorted. “It’s an example of our old one. I’m the boss and I’m busy.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

Five minutes later, Pepper herself turned off the music and strode into the shop, laptop under one arm and a grim expression on her face.

“Oh, no,” he said, trying to ward her off with a wrench. “Go back upstairs and review the contract on your own.”

“I can’t review it on my own because it’s our contract. We’ve had our first month and now we need to decide if we’re going to renew.”

“Seriously?” he demanded. “Are you really serious with this Potts? Renew? Of course I want to renew. Are we all set?”

“You didn’t read the first contract, did you?”

“It’s sex, which I know all about, and it’s you, who I trust completely. Why did I have to read it?”

“Tony, I know that you’re more an opportunistic Dominant than anything else….”

“A what? What am I?” He wrenched and got the piece out. Finally. His mood began to improve almost immediately.

“You figured out my nature and decided to use it to your advantage,” she was still saying, “however, as I was open to expanding our relationship and in need of a Master, I allowed it.”

His brain caught on open to expanding our relationship. He wondered when the hell she’d become open to it – before the trigger word? Before he’d volunteered to be her Master?

“That said,” she continued; he pulled his attention to the conversation taking place in front of him and not the one in his head. “There are certain absolutes that even an untrained Dominant must adhere to; one of them is the contract. It keeps things safe and sane.”

“No,” he said, grunting as he realized that he needed three hands and that one of them needed to be petite and truly tiny. “We keep things safe and sane.”

“And yet you’re neither.”

“Hey! That’s not entirely true,” he protested. “Get over here, I need your help.”

“Promise me I won’t get oil or any other viscous substance on my clothes.”

“I promise. Please.” He turned on the puppy dog eyes.

She sighed loudly, put the laptop down on top of a pile of papers and approached the workbench slowly.

“Right there,” he prompted, pointing towards an array of wires.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Pinch those and keep them out of the way while I solder.”

“Don’t set me on fire,” she said as she did as he’d asked.

“I won’t,” he promised, leaning forward with the soldering iron and breathing her in. “You smell good.”

“I’m letting go.”

“Don’t,” he yelped. “I’ll stop.” He leaned forward, his arm resting against hers as he focused on the job, completing it in precise movements that may or may not have strictly necessitated him pressing up against her as much as he did. “Okay,” he said finally. “Good job. Do you want a kiss as a reward?”

“I’ll pass,” she smiled.

“But you like my kisses,” he ventured, trying to sound certain of the fact.

“Not during the week,” she pointed out, clacking her way back to the laptop.

“But weekend kisses are the same as weekday kisses.”

She dragged a chair over to her improvised work station and opened the laptop. “No. They’re not. Now, I’d like to hear your thoughts on the weekends.”

His thoughts on the weekends were simple: Spectacular, wonderful, amazing.

All was right in his world: he was satisfying his gorgeous assistant (and himself) every chance he got, Pepper was moderately less cranky and he had single-handedly brokered world peace.

Tony Stark’s life was a good one, indeed. 

“They’re fantastic,” he grinned. “You’re fantastic. I’m more than satisfied.”

“Thank you. Is there anything else?”

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

“I have lots, but I want to hear your thoughts first. Honest and open communication is essential. What do you want changed? What do you like? That sort of thing.”

“Four weekends a month and four nights a week.”

“Impossible given our schedules,” she said briskly. “Anything about the weekends themselves?”

“Nope. I’m good,” he grinned, swinging back on his heels and waiting for the recitation of his prowess, skills and all-around incredibleness to begin.

Pepper turned her attention to the computer. “Here are my suggestions.”

Suggestions were not good – suggestions were like criticism and criticism was the opposite of fawning adoration.

“Whoa!” he said quickly. “How about ‘Tony you’re fantastic, too?’ What about ‘Tony, you’re wildly hot and you satisfy me fully?’”

She took a deep breath and caught his stunned gaze. “Tony, what did I say to you the day we decided to do this?”

“That I was hot and you wanted me.”

“I don’t believe that I said you were hot.”

“But I am, right?”

“Excruciatingly. Now think. What else did I say?”

_She said it wasn’t just about sex, genius_ a niggling voice in his head reminded him.

“You said it wasn’t just about sex.”

“Exactly. This lifestyle is about voluntarily giving up control over your body and mind to another person – my needs are met by meeting yours and yours are met by meeting mine.

“The sex is fantastic-.”

He grinned hugely.

“But it’s not enough.”

The smile faded and he blinked stupidly at her. He’d never been told he was less than unbelievable at anything to do with sex - even drunk, high and with half of the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders he’d always done his job and done it _well_.

“What are you trying to say?”

“If I were your Dominant.”

And then his head was spinning with _that_ thought. “What if you were my Dominant?”

She blinked. “I’m not. Please pay attention, Tony. If I were your Domme there would have been a lot less sex and a lot more playing.

“I knew this would take work, but I think it’s worth it. That’s why these meetings are important.”

He shook his head, unable to figure out what the hell she was saying.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s about control and power and satisfying needs - sex is just one way of expressing that; I’m not sure you’ve quite figured that out yet,” she said, sounding exactly like an employer giving her employee his annual review which, he was starting to figure out, was kind of the point.

Obviously his research had been a little too focused on the sexual aspects of the relationship between Dominant and submissive.

He could see reading lists in his immediate future.

“Tony, I’m like a new toy-.”

He realized instantly what she was trying to say. “You’re not my toy!” he protested. 

She smiled. “See, a Master wouldn’t have felt the need to refute that – he would’ve confirmed that I was, indeed, his toy and continued along with his life.”

“But you’re not a toy,” he said again, because the thought was a little nauseating and a lot intriguing and completely disrespectful and he respected Pepper like no one else. “I mean you’re fun to play with, and I’d love to dress you up in outfits – like the ones you wore to the sex clubs, for example – and you’re ridiculously flexible and you make really cool noises….” He trailed off as he realized he wasn’t making his point as lucidly as he’d planned. “Pepper, you’re a person. A very patient, complex person. A person I like and respect. A lot.”

She blinked. “You really shouldn’t drink when you’re working with tools.”

“I haven’t been drinking,” he said, sounding wounded. “I’m telling you the truth.”

She smiled gently, then took a deep breath. “During our weekends, think of me as a new toy – one that you need to figure out and learn – what buttons to push, what things I’m capable of. I’m not porcelain. I won’t break.”

He was suddenly flooded with a memory of her pushing back into his fingers – eager for him to breach her ….

Yep. He was starting to get it.

“And punishments,” she continued. “I have good control, but I can be impertinent – in fact, I have been impertinent with you but you’ve let it slide. You’re going to have to punish me eventually Tony.”

His mind was whirling to Pepper being a bad girl and how he would teach her a lesson.

He took several deep calming breaths and thought of unsexy things - nuns, show tunes, elderly strippers, vans, sexual harassment lawsuits - because he was pretty sure if he popped wood in front of Potts on a weekday she’d chop it off.

That would definitely make their next weekend less than satisfactory.

“So you’re telling me that after a decade of you telling me I’m a jerk-,” he began, wanting to be completely clear.

“Eight years,” she interjected.

“What?”

“The first two years I worked for you I was so in awe of you – and so terrified of losing my job – that I never called you a jerk. To your face.”

He frowned. “It took you two years to realize that I couldn’t afford to lose you?”

She nodded, then paused. “How long did it take you?”

“About three days. Really? It took you two years?” he asked incredulously.

She gave one of her patented frustrated/bemused/affectionate looks. “Three days?” she scoffed. “I didn’t think you realized I wasn’t just some hooker you’d hired for the week until I showed up the second Monday.”

He stared at her, a little shocked that she had felt that way. “Virginia,” he said. “Virginia Marie Pepper Potts, I never confused you with an escort – that’s the preferred term by the way; from the first minute I met you I knew that you were something special and I realized on the third day you worked for me that you were indispensable. That’s the truth.”

She blinked rapidly for several seconds, then tipped her head and regarded him closely for several moments. “You’re being honest,” she finally decided.

“Always.”

“Please,” she countered, rolling her eyes and wrinkling her nose.

“Anyway,” he said, “After eight years of you telling me I’m a jerk all of a sudden you’re telling me I’m not a big enough one now?”

“I’m not telling you to be a jerk, Tony. I’m telling you to be a Dominant. I’ve ordered books for you. They arrive tomorrow.”

He _knew_ he’d been right about the reading list.

“Am I going to have to do book reports for you?”

She smiled, head lowered, eyes on the computer screen. “Consider our next weekend to be your test.” She picked her head up and looked at him. “Use what you learn. Read the contract so you know what I like and don’t like.”

“Hitting. You don’t like hitting.”

“That’s true, I don’t like hitting – but there’s so much more to this than pain and sex – there is taking the time to learn another person so thoroughly you can anticipate their needs before they even know they have them.”

_Like she does for you_ , his conscience reminded him, yet again.

“Have you done any research on the contents of the drawer?” she asked, studying her computer once again.

“I’ve been busy – fighting crime, terrorism and injustice, and running a company…”

She cleared her throat.

“Partially running a company.”

She raised one perfect eyebrow.

"Helping you run a company."

She smiled and continued, “The books have information about the toys. Don’t be afraid to experiment. I wouldn’t have bought the toys I did if I didn’t want you to use them.”

“Toys, got it.” He was starting to actually look forward to seeing the books she’d ordered.

“Now to the matter of you calling me Pepper,” she said, staring at him fixedly.

“What am I supposed to call you?”

“I mean during our weekends, and you’re supposed to call me little one.”

“When did I call you Pepper during a weekend?” he demanded; even though he remembered the moment with exquisite clarity, he’d learned that deniability was the best course of action. Always.

“ _Yesterday_ ,” she said witheringly. “And in this very room.” She pointed to the desk, “While I was on that very piece of furniture.”

“Is that a problem?” he asked, squinting at her.

“Tony, when we’re playing we need to have boundaries and limits – we are not the people we are during the week. Please try to remember that I’m little one. Okay?”

“What if I’m so far gone that I can’t remember that rule?” he suggested.

“Please,” she said. “You’ve been able to remember much more while drunk, high and in the midst of a nest of big-breasted blondes.”

He blinked and thought about it. While she wasn’t entirely wrong, he had a vague portent that it wouldn’t always be that way: he felt out of control with her in a way he’d never experienced before – not drunk, not high and definitely not with any other woman. Or women.

_Pull it together_ , he chided himself. _It’s playing_.

“Little one. Got it,” he assured her. “What else have I done wrong?”

“That’s it. Now, are you still interested in renewing the contract?” Her voice, her posture, her eyes were more uncertain than he’d ever realized she was capable of being.

The lecture had been hard on her, he realized. Training him was hard. He felt a wave of admiration break over him. Pepper was sticking with him despite his flaws and faults and deficiencies, just like she always did.

“Hell, yes.”

“Exclusive?” she asked, still uncertain.

“I’m sure as hell not looking for another submissive,” he said. “Or any other partners, for that matter.” He realized the minute he said it that it was a little too deep, a little too close to home.

“Between you and Iron Man, I’m lucky I have the energy to walk most days,” he joked. “I mean you know I have stamina, but I’m forty now – I don’t want to end up in a nursing home sooner than I need to.”

“Good.” Her posture relaxed and she gave him a brilliant smile before she dropped her eyes back to the computer monitor.

“Did you think I’d say no?”

“It’s happened before,” she said quietly; she looked and sounded so thoroughly vulnerable it made him angry and protective.

“One of the others?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She looked at him. “Yes.”

_Idiot_ , he thought. _He was an idiot – but boy am I happy he was_.

“Pe-,” he began.

She shook her head, then morphed back into Pepper Potts. “One more thing, Tony. So help me God, if you ever make me listen to you talk about the suit for an hour again I’ll safeword on your ass so fast and so hard you’ll think you were hit with a Jericho missile.”

She didn’t want to pursue the discussion and he let it drop. “Say ass again,” he teased.

“Tony,” she said threateningly, smiling, her equilibrium clearly returned.

“I understand, Miss Potts. I understand.”

And, in some strange way, he truly did. He was pretty damn proud of himself.


	10. Tony learns about sex toys

Tony was sitting on the floor of his closet, surrounded by the contents of the toy drawer, when Pepper finally arrived at his house on Thursday afternoon; the second she walked in the door, he had Jarvis open a channel and so he could begin badgering her, “Where have you been? Why are you so late? I need you in my bedroom right now.”

He could feel the waves of iciness rolling from the foyer to his room even before she spoke. “Stark Industries. Department Head Meeting. No.”

“I’m not trying to seduce you; I just _need you in my bedroom_.”

“That sounds like the same thing.”

“Potts!”

“You better be dressed when I get there.”

“I’m dressed. Jarvis, tell her I’m dressed.”

“He’s dressed, Miss Potts,” Jarvis said woodenly; he’d had a rough morning.

There was a pause. “In clothes.”

“What else would I be dressed in? Just get in here.”

“I’ll be right there,” she sighed, and he could hear her heels clicking over the intercom.

Moments later she was in the doorway, looking down at him – a curious light in her eyes.

“Anal beads,” he said in greeting. “These are anal beads, Potts.”

“I know.”

“They are used to…Jarvis, what was it again?”

“Sir, perhaps you and Miss Potts could discuss this without me.”

“Read it, Jarvis.”

“Used to stimulate the prostate….”

“The prostate, Potts,” Tony interrupted. “As in _male_. As in me.”

Pepper held his gaze implacably. “Jarvis, does that entry from…”

“Wikipedia, Miss Potts.”

“Well known for its accuracy,” she pointed out. “Jarvis, does that entry from Wikipedia say anything else?”

“That they are for use with women as well,” the AI said with the air of someone finally able to speak their piece.

Pepper tipped her head to the side. “Women. As in _me_.”

“Oh.” Momentarily chastened, he dropped the toy to the floor, then his eyes lit on another suspicious object. “But what about _this_?” He held up an anal plug.

She sighed deeply and folded herself gracefully to the floor. “Also for me.”

Maybe talking to her about sex toys scant feet from the bed with her smelling and looking like she did had been a mistake because the image of her and the thing in his hands engendered thoughts and feelings in him - _wild, scalding hot_ thoughts and feelings. He put it away, reminding himself once again that if the Stark Hot Rod were to wake up he’d end up with one stiletto in a temple and the other in his groin.

It was time, he decided, to focus on something else – something that wasn’t even close to being arousing. Lord knows, he’d been reading enough about that kind of stuff in the books she’d ordered for him.

“Explain electricity to me,” he prompted, settling his back against the wall and fiddling with a tube of something encouragingly called Good Head.

Her eyebrows shot to her forehead. “You’re a genius who built a big metal suit in the middle of a terrorist stronghold and you’re asking me how electricity works?”

“No, I know how electricity works,” he sighed, “Because I’m a genius who bui-.”

She cleared her throat evocatively.

“Electricity and sex. Explain electricity and sex to me, please.”

She frowned, a single wrinkle between her eyebrows that grew deeper by the month. “Like the spark between two people?”

“No, like zapping the one you love or are having hot sex with.”

He’d been electrocuted enough times to know that it was not fun, sexy or conducive to much more than gibbering in pain for periods of time ranging anywhere from several seconds to fifteen minutes.

The thought of purposely jolting someone made him queasy; however, it appeared that a whole segment of the lifestyle enjoyed playing games with electricity. He was still trying to make sense of it.

“You’ve been reading,” she translated.

“Yeah, and frankly it freaked me out. What’s the appeal? Seriously? Even Jarvis didn’t know and Jarvis knows _everything_.”

“You asked Jarvis about it?”

“Indeed he did, Miss Potts,” the AI intoned mournfully. “He made me do an Internet search.”

“I’m sorry, Jarvis,” she said soothingly.

“Hey!” Tony protested. “I’m the one who had to read the stuff. How about apologizing to me?”

She smiled toothily. “You wanted to be my Dom; Jarvis is just an innocent bystander in all of this.”

“Thank you for acknowledging that, Miss Potts,” Jarvis interjected.

“Stop ganging up on me,” Tony protested, “and explain to me what the appeal of blood play, fire play, or _golden showers_ is.” His eyes had scudded over the words in horror, trying to figure out why anyone would allow themselves to be cut or burned or…other things during sex or a scene or a scene with sex.

“Tony,” she said, with the tone she used when she was being particularly patient with him. “Just because it isn’t our kink doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

 _Our kink_. She’d said _our_ ; it tugged at his stomach in an odd way.

 _Focus, Tony_ , he reminded himself.

“We’re all wired differently,” she continued. “You know that I’m not interested in any of that…”

“Thank God,” he breathed.

“And neither are you because we are wired similarly,” she smiled gently, leaning slightly closer to him. “You crave sensation, you always have, and it led you to, well, live your life like you used to – like you did before you learned to channel it – first into the suit and now into me. Am I wrong?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so,” she said briskly, brushing hair out of her eyes and shifting slightly. “I also crave sensation – I denied myself for a long time, but not anymore. Luckily, our kinks are compatible. It’s what makes this a good match.”

He blinked stupidly at her, blood rushing everywhere but to his brain, where he really needed it.

She leaned back and grinned at him. “How long have you been sitting in here?”

“Forty-five minutes,” Jarvis answered.

“Narc,” Tony muttered.

“Maybe you should step away from the toy drawer,” Pepper suggested.

“No, I’m good,” Tony protested, reminding himself that pushing her back into the floor and _taking_ her was against the rules. “I’m _learning_ things.”

“I can see that,” she said as if she relished the words.

He stared at her mouth, picturing how it looked when she was gasping with pleasure; he realized with a start several seconds later that she was still speaking.

“-ther questions?”

Other questions? He had hundreds, but he’d start with one that had been puzzling him for almost thirty minutes.

He picked up a metal rod with loops of leather attached to either end and waved it at her dramatically. “Jarvis, what’s this called again?”

“A spreader bar,” the AI prompted, sounding greatly maligned.

“When would I use a spreader bar?”

“When I’m being particularly naughty and won’t keep my legs open for you.”

He sucked in a breath and looked at the object in his hands. “I can see how this would come in handy.” He put it back in the drawer with great care and gentleness.

“What else?” she prompted, smirking.

“Why are you trying to top from the bottom?” he asked. It was something he’d found in the books – she’d been bossy and demanding and directive which were all things he was supposed to be, not her.

She laughed, sharp and quick, then slammed her mouth closed. “I think buying you those books was a big mistake.”

“Why? Because I discovered your nefarious plan?”

She laughed again, long and musically. “You’re an untrained Dom – I think anyone in the lifestyle would agree that I need to engage in a bit of topping from the bottom. That said, I think you’ll do just fine from here on out. No more topping. Promise.”

And then Tony was thinking about Pepper topping and on top; he had to pull himself together, and fast.

Distraction worked – thinking about things that didn’t involve her and him and the wicked, luxurious heat of their couplings.

“I still don’t get the pain-related aspects of it all,” he said, part of his brain racing through research and latching onto anything that would change the subject. Pain was not sexy. It hadn’t been before and it sure as hell wasn’t since he ended up with more than his fair share of it during missions.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said gently. “Like I said, we’re all wired differently. I’ve seen extremely intense scenes in the clubs that I would never be interested in participating in – but the people who were involved seemed to enjoy them immensely.”

“What kind of s-.”

“The first rule of fight club is that you _do not talk about fight club_.”

“That’s the second rule, too,” he said grumpily.

“Don’t you want to ask me about this?” She picked up an innocuous jar with powder inside and a feather attached jauntily to the lid.

“Body powder,” he scoffed, plucking it from her hand and tossing it back into the drawer. “I know all about that – big fan, big fan.”

“I’m sure,” she said tartly.

“Vibrating cock ring,” he said, picking it up and storing it away. “Self-explanatory.”

“I would think so.”

“We’ve discussed the anal beads,” he continued, putting them back in the drawer. “And I’m well-acquainted with lube.” He stowed away several bottles.

She cocked her head to the side and watched him, a soft expression on her face.

“Restraints for restraining. Vibrators for vibrating. Nipple ticklers for nipple tickling.”

“You sound like a very demented Dr. Seuss,” she grinned.

“You’d know, young lady,” he said, trying desperately to sound affronted. “I didn’t buy this stuff. Sports sheets for….”

“Sports sheeting?” she prompted.

“No, for fastening restraints to,” he smirked. “As you well know.”

She wiggled her eyebrows lasciviously. It was such an unexpected, such a fucking sexy, expression that he stopped and stared in stunned silence for several seconds as he tried to figure out how much she’d really hurt him if he just kissed her. In the middle of the day. On a Thursday.

 _More than you can imagine_ , the reasonable voice in his head decided.

It was time to get the hell out of the Closet of Toys and Temptation.

He closed the drawer and stood, then reached down to help her up; he stepped several feet back as soon as she was upright.

“So I suppose you have lots of work to do,” Tony prompted, walking into his room and then into the hall; Pepper keeping pace beside him.

“I always have lots of work to do.”

“Me, too.”

She stopped and looked at him incredulously. “What work are you doing?”

He paused and caught her gaze, grinning evilly. “I need to spend some time refining my knot-tying skills.”

She sucked in a breath; he started whistling as he headed down to the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony may be perceived as kink-shaming in this chapter - please know that these are his opinions only. While Tony may have an issue with some of the activities of BDSM, my mantra is, as in all things: As long as everyone is over 18, wants to be there and no animals are harmed, go for it.
> 
> What people do in their bedrooms is of little importance when compared with what they do outside of them.
> 
> Enjoy what you enjoy, folks. Life is short and difficult, find joy and fulfillment where you can.


	11. Master ties up his little one for the first time

“Mr. Stark, Miss Potts has arrived and is waiting for you in the living room.”

“I know, Jarvis. You already told me.”

The AI paused, then said more urgently, “Miss Potts does not like it when you keep her waiting.”

“Miss Potts doesn’t mind as much during certain weekends,” Tony reassured the AI as he tested the restraints. Again.

They still held.

He was as close to ready as he was going to be.

“Why does Miss Pot-.”

“Jarvis, remember the day we went through the toys and I had you do searches on alternative sexual practices.”

“Acutely,” the computer said dryly.

“Extrapolate from that and turn on Pepper Mix at level one,” Tony instructed, looking over the room once more. Everything was in readiness.

The scene was set. So to speak.

“Certainly, Sir,” Jarvis said before making a sound that sounded like a sigh and then one that was definitely a beep.

Pepper was standing in the center of the living room waiting for him with her head lowered, cloth shopping bags in her hands and wearing shorts, a t-shirt and sneakers. He’d never seen her wear sneakers – had never even pictured her owning them. He found himself staring at them. They were blazingly white with navy accents.

“You own sneakers?” he demanded, wholly unable to move past that detail and into the session.

She shuffled her feet but didn’t respond – he hadn’t given her permission to.

“Of course you own sneakers,” he answered for her as he took the bags. “It’s not like you’d borrow them to wear over here,” he continued as he marched into the kitchen. “I’m just surprised…well, I guess I’m not surprised, because everyone _should_ own a pair of sneakers…I just thought your feet would reject anything that wasn’t leather and had a five-inch heel.”

He turned and found himself alone, talking to himself. Retracing his steps he found Pepper still standing where he’d left her because he’d been too busy acting like her friend instead of her Master to give her permission to move.

_Stop making rookie mistakes, Stark_ , he chided himself.

“Come with me and tell me the safewords,” he ordered.

She trailed after him, reciting the phrases that regulated their play.

Once in the kitchen, Tony had Pepper unpack the bags. He’d been purposely vague in his instruction email – telling her to come in whatever she usually wore when she wasn’t working and to bring whatever she needed to make dinner and breakfast for them. 

He’d decided that if she brought anything green with her, he was going to have to punish her. She knew him well enough to be aware that he didn’t think salads were an adequate substitute for real food.

He was kind of hoping he’d get to punish her – he’d had _ideas_ about that.

There were two thick, marbled steaks, potatoes, English muffins, sour cream, bacon, eggs, ham, butter and lemon juice.

Not a leaf of lettuce in sight.

_And I had some really good ideas about punishments_ , he thought ruefully.

She closed the refrigerator and waited. Tony took a deep breath and ran through the plan for the scene once more.

“It’s good to see you again, little one,” he said, walking close to her. “Now, get undressed.”

Without hesitation, Pepper stripped, her pathologically clean sneakers first, then her shirt, shorts, bra and finally her panties; he watched raptly as all of her lovely skin emerged, leaning close so he could smell the subtle perfume she wore, the undertones of _Pepper_.

He couldn’t wait to play with her.

He let her stand naked in the middle of the kitchen as he looked her up and down; he was the Master now, she was his little one.

It was time.

Tony nodded. “You’ll do.”

Her cheek twitched, so fast he wasn’t sure he’d really seen it.

“Bedroom.”

She turned on her heel and headed off; he trailed behind her, pulling off his clothes while he walked behind her, watching her ass.

She stepped into the bedroom and got a good look at the bed and at the four neckties – solid burgundy; indigo with pinstripes a tone darker; gray and dark purple; buttery yellow - laid carefully atop it, secured to the bed frame by lengths of leather. Waiting for her.

He’d been nervous about this – regardless of the fact that she’d bought restraints, despite his fevered fantasies of her bound for him, in spite of the fact that she’d told him early on she liked this type of activity – because this was a new level of play, one that needed trust.

He trusted her completely, but he was less certain how much she trusted him.

He watched her closely, saw her eyes dilate, her skin pink up, her face break into an excited smile; some of his trepidation and uncertainty began to bleed away.

She looked at him briefly, then dropped her eyes; her hands fisted next to her sides.

“I know you’re disappointed I didn’t do this before,” he said, slipping into his role. “But you have no one else to blame but yourself. You are far too distracting for your own good.” He cradled her jaw in his palms and pushed her head up. Her eyes were glittering, hard and focused. 

He nipped at her lower lip, then nipped harder and she opened her mouth to him, allowing him in passively – not returning his kisses, just taking his tongue, his heat. His hands dropped to her arms, pulling her close to him, pressing her against him as he delved and tasted - until she was clinging to him and he was dizzy. He let go of her mouth, then her arms and looked into her glazed eyes.

“Get on the bed, little one. On your back. I think you know the rest.”

She undulated down to the bed in a fluid movement that had him trying to figure out the physics of it for almost thirty seconds before he remembered where they were and what he was supposed to be doing.

She obediently spread her legs and stretched her arms over her head as he knelt beside her and began to tie the simple knot he’d been practicing. “Trust me,” he said soothingly. “I used to be a Boy Scout.”

Her eyes caught his and she smiled widely.

He fought back an answering smile at the proof of her certainty and belief in him. “But even if I hadn’t been, you’d trust me anyway, wouldn’t you? Tell me,” he prompted her, irrationally wanting to hear the words.

“I do, “she said. “I do trust you. Completely and implicitly.”

A wash of emotion broke over him and he kissed her nose, then straddled her waist, working on the other wrist.

“I like the idea that the next time you knot one of these around my throat, you’ll be remembering this,” he continued.

She swallowed heavily, her eyes fixed on his movements. He put his lips on the pulse of her neck; it fluttered like hummingbird’s wings.

Her arms secured, he slid down to her legs and kept talking to her, as normally as if they were discussing his schedule or budgets or the stock market. “I had Jarvis do a little detective work for me; he tells me that ninety percent of the time, you choose one of these four ties for me.” 

He finished securing her ankles and settled between her legs. “Why do you like these particular ones so much, little one?” He looked into her eyes, dilated and glazed. “I want an answer. What is it about them?”

“I bought them for you,” she said, her voice tight and harsh. “And you look fucking unbelievable in them.”

He laughed and kissed the inside of her knee. “I love it when you talk dirty. And you _did_ buy them for me – boss’s day – or four boss’s days - wasn’t it?”

She nodded tightly as he suckled the inside of her other knee.

“I think everyday should be boss’s day,” he murmured, nipping soft skin halfway up her thigh; she writhed for him.

“I won’t know if this hurts unless you tell me, so you’re going to need to use that pretty little mouth of yours to tell me if it does, do you understand? Answer me.”

Of course,” she said, worrying at her lips with her white teeth, her body practically vibrating with excitement.

He rested back on his heels and looked her over – spread-eagle and strapped down – the physical embodiment of everything he’d been reading about – complete and utter trust and belief in him that he would be careful with her and make this good. 

She’d given herself over to his care.

He let out a tremulous breath as he finally, truly and completely _got it_.

She was watching his face intently and her answering smile, encouraging and bright, made him wonder if she could read his mind. He allowed himself to bask for a moment, kissing her soft lips gently, before he leaned back and once again became her Master. 

“Fuck. Why the hell did it take me so long to do this?” he mused out loud, the double meaning lost on neither of them.

She looked at him mutely.

“Little one, I’d like to hear your opinion.”

“Because I’m a distraction,” she said quietly, echoing his words back to him.

“You most definitely are,” he said. “Now, rules: sounds are good – very, very good – words are fine – but nothing else until I give you permission. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master," she whispered, her gaze swallowing him – eagerness and anticipation filling her eyes.

“I think I’d like to hear the rules again,” he said, picking up a blindfold and sliding it through his fingers. 

Her gaze fixed on the piece of cloth in his hands and her voice was tight when she responded. “I can talk, I can make sounds, but I can’t climax until you let me.”

“I do like how you summarize things,” he grinned. “Now I was thinking I was going to use this on you,” he waved the blindfold at her then tossed it over his shoulder. “But I’ve decided that I really want you to see what I’m doing to you.”

Her breath caught and then rushed out in a quick gasp.

It was a sound he liked very much.

“So,” he said, his tone conversational, “I realized yesterday that I’ve been so busy getting inside you that I haven’t had a chance to really touch you yet.” He pressed a palm onto her stomach and dragged it up her torso and across her left breast, cupping and squeezing as he passed over the perfect little mound. “I think it’s time to rectify that, don’t you?”

“I’d like that very much,” she said, more breathlessly than he’d ever heard her. He realized that he was _finally_ seeing the real Pepper.

He busied himself for long, delightful and delicious minutes with touching every bit of skin he could reach - learning her topography in a way he’d never quite gotten around to doing with anyone other than himself.

She had freckles, he discovered, under her left breast and on her right hip. She had a scar next to her right nipple and he wondered if it was a souvenir from an old Master; the thought flooded him with crimson anger, so he put it out of his mind. The tip of his tongue fit perfectly into her belly button, she _really_ liked the underside of her breasts nibbled on, and she let out little shrieking moans with he bit gently on the underside of her arm. She whimpered when he ghosted breaths on her legs. Her left knee was ticklish, but not the right one; the backs of both knees were exquisitely sensitive – he spent several minutes feathering touches over them and she writhed and pulled at the silky ties, begging for more.

When he let his fingers slip over her soaking folds and then down lower, over her anus, she started to chant _please_ over and over.

“Little one,” he said, modulating his voice to sound harsh and commanding. “I decide when and how, and I don’t want to take you here,” he pushed slightly against the spongy opening, “today.”

She screwed her eyes shut and nodded her head in jerky, uncoordinated movements. 

“I do, however, want to taste you properly,” he said musingly, staring openly at her swollen flesh, idly stroking two fingers through the moisture gathered there. He lapped at her gently, slowly, drawing longing vowel sounds from her – he kept at her, using skills he learned over decades to reduce her to gasps, her fingers tearing at the ties that bound her, her legs shaking beside him.

“Don’t you come,” he cautioned her even as he pushed himself against the sheets, trying to stave off his own climax. “You aren’t allowed yet.”

“I know, Master,” she choked out. “But please….”

He lapped her once more, then sat up, sliding to sit near her head. Her eyes fixed on his erection, mouth open, eyes hungry.

He eased his dripping fingers in her mouth and she sucked at them eagerly. “Holy shit,” he said, then said it again. Despite the first month, he hadn’t been prepared for the unadulterated eroticism of Pepper unashamed, wanton, _needy_.

He leaned down and wet his fingers again, gave them to her and she licked and laved, her eyes fixed on his. Words failed him, thoughts failed him, his lungs failed him.

She blew out forcibly around his fingers; he blinked and took her wordless suggestion, breathing in a deep breath, the sudden air fiery.

She glanced at his free hand and grinned, then sucked his fingers harder; he followed her gaze and found, to his surprise, that his hand wasn’t free at all – he’d wrapped it around his cock and was squeezing, hard and punishingly – preventing any spontaneous, unplanned emissions.

He took a deep breath, another, and removed his fingers from her mouth. She whimpered at the loss and he shook his head, trying to clear it of the haze of sensation and arousal. “Fucking hell. Fucking _hell_.”

She grinned. “Yes, Master. Fucking hell.”

“Such an incredibly dirty mouth,” he laughed, moving to cover her with his body, to kiss her. Her hips snapped up at his, seeking friction and penetration and more.

“Slow down,” he cautioned. “I’m in charge here.” He levered himself off of her and began to untie her wrists. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

She watched his busy fingers with something approaching disappointment in her eyes. He guessed at what was causing it and grabbed the emergency, in case one of the other ties snapped or tore or wouldn’t stay tied right, tie – the one that was blue with white polka dots and a Christmas gift from her, her fifth favorite – and re-bound her wrists and guided her arms over her head. 

“Better now?” he grinned.

“Yes. Thank you, Master,” she said, contentment filling her eyes.

He shook his head wonderingly. She was practically vibrating out of her skin; she’d denied herself for far too long; he’d wasted her time with pale imitations of what she really needed.

_No more_ , he vowed. _Never again_.

“I’m not going to tie you to the headboard again,” he said, sliding down her body, encouraging rapturous noises as he rubbed against her skin, “Because I need to be able to _move_ you to _suit me_.” She shuddered in response at the dark promise of his words. “So you need to be a good girl and keep those arms where I put them.”

He paused in the midst of freeing her left ankle and looked up at her. “You will do as I tell you to, won’t you sweetheart.” It wasn't a question.

“Always. Of course. Yes,” she stammered out, her fingers tightening, her arms straight and pressing into the mattress.

“Such a good, good little thing,” he murmured, freeing her other ankle and sliding off the bed so he could stand on shaking legs and look over her, spread out, open, wanting him.

“Don’t come until I give you permission,” he reminded her as he tugged her quivering body towards him. 

She let out a low moaning yes; he slid his hands under her ass and tipped her up, positioned her so he could slide inside in one endlessly long stroke. 

“Legs around my waist,” he grunted, using the very last bit of lucidity to give the order – then he gave himself over to sensation, moving and churning, rhythm and blazing wet, the smell of her, the feel of her around him everywhere – his cock, his waist, his mind.

The color rose in her chest as she fought off her climax, as she followed his edict and the sight of it triggered him and his rhythm faltered into rutting and grunting and commanding “come” even as he did himself.

He stood shaking for longer than he would’ve dreamed possible, staring at her face, her eyes rolled back so only the white showed

_You did good_ , he told himself, then he was moving, shifting, positioning them so he was on the bed beside her, fumbling at the necktie that still bound her wrists. Free, she rolled onto her side and stared at him, a blissful smile on her face that he just knew was mirrored on his own mouth.

After, long after, when she was breathing right again and he could remember that his mouth could be used to form words, he asked, “Did that work for you, little one?” because the books had said you needed to talk about things after the scene was over. And he wanted to know what she was thinking. 

“It worked for me.”

“What worked?” he persisted, getting up and retrieving a jar of salve from the nightstand. “Be honest and open. I want to know how this was for you – what you liked, what you didn’t.”

A wicked gleam began to form in her eyes. “The ties, those specific ties, were inspired.”

Tony felt a wash of pride – the ties had been a last minute addition, more personal and far sexier than the leather restraints alone.

“What else?” he asked encouragingly guiding her onto her back so he could rub the cream into her wrists and ankles; they were slightly red, but not bruised, not chaffed – he’d done well with the knots.

She watched his careful, tender moments with great absorption. “You put thought into it.”

“I did.”

“You practiced your knot-tying skills.”

“For several hours,” he laughed. “Dummy and You are still traumatized.”

She laughed, too; it was a sound he could never quite get enough of – it was full-throated and genuine, not the pale facsimile she used at work or when she was humoring him.

The salve administered, he tossed the jar on the floor and settled back on the bed, laying on his side; she mirrored his position. He slid towards her, moving close enough to feel her breaths fan across his lips – but staying far enough away so he could look into her eyes.

“And?” he prompted.

“You recognized that I needed my wrists to be bound, my hands to be immobilized during the whole scene,” she said, obviously approving.

He could still taste her on his tongue and on her breath. _Focus_ , he scolded himself, _now is not the time_.

“I figured that out just from the look in your eyes,” he pointed out cockily. “Pretty damn good, I’d say.”

“Very good” she smiled.

“And what would you change?” he asked. Even though he’d thought the whole thing was perfect, Pepper always seemed to have notes.

She didn’t disappoint.

“Don’t be afraid to work me over longer,” she suggested. “I can hold out for a long time.”

He smiled evilly at her. “You might rethink that little bit of honesty when I have to punish you.”

Her eyes dilated and her mouth fell open, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

He had to kiss her. There was no other choice.

Several minutes later, he released her mouth, dazed and struggling to remember what they’d been discussing.

Pepper, as always, got them right back on track. “I don’t have any other comments, Master. It was a very enjoyable scene. It worked for me.”

“With the added bonus of you getting to relive it every time I wear one of the ties to a meeting or have you put it on for me,” he grinned, his greedy fingers stroking around and around her belly button. “Because you do know you’re totally going to be thinking about this.”

She mumbled something that he couldn’t quite catch – something he was pretty sure he wanted to hear.

“What was that?” he asked, pushing a little authority into his tone and pinching the taut skin of her belly gently.

“I said it wouldn’t be the first time.”

He hadn’t been expecting that. His fingers fell from her body and he was pretty sure that his mouth gaped open unbecomingly for several seconds before he pulled himself together. “Repeat that, please.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I thought about you restraining me with your ties,” she confessed, blushing adorably.

“When would the first time have been?”" he demanded, ridiculously curious.

“A while ago,” she said cagily.

“'A while ago' like last week or last month or six months ago….”

“Years,” she mumbled.

“Years. Years, Po-little one,” he caught himself and surged ahead. “Years! It would’ve been helpful to know about these thoughts….”

“Fantasies,” she smirked, ignoring his stumble.

“That’s even worse,” he stammered. “Fantasies and thoughts are totally different and you’ve been having fantasies about me tying you up and having my wicked-and-skillful way with you for years.”

“Not for years,” she explained, cupping her hands under her cheek. “I started having them years ago, but not with any regularity – once in a while, when you were particularly charming.”

“I’m always charming,” he said, affronted. No one was immune to the overwhelming charms of Tony Stark - even Pepper Potts.

“You said I could be open and honest, right?”

‘Yeah,” he said cautiously; he really didn’t want to be told how much he sucked when he was feeling so content and satiated.

“You weren’t always charming.”

“Weren’t is past tense,” he pointed out hopefully.

“Yes, it is.”

“So I’m always charming now.”

“More often than not.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “So you’d say I’ve grown on you over the years.”

“You’ve grown on me since you ca- in the last few months,” she said hesitantly. “And definitely during our weekends.”

“Are you referring to the expanding and expansive dimensions of the Stark Hot Rod?” he demanded. “And I mean the one in my pants, not in my workshop.”

“Thanks for clarifying that,” she smiled widely, her eyes dancing with an emotion that looked a lot like joy. “And I wasn’t _just_ referring to the dimensions of the,” she shuddered dramatically, “Stark Hot Rod. I was talking about you.

“You’re learning and growing every day,” she said proudly. “You’re finally becoming the man I always knew you could become. It’s quite something to see.”

It was stupid, really, for him to be so pleased to hear Pepper say out loud what he already knew – that the man who’d been found in the desert was far removed from the one who’d been lost in it; it didn’t stop him from feeling it anyway.

“I can live with that,” he said happily.


	12. Tony and Pepper play Operation and bond

"Jarvis, do you remember how my Friday nights used to be?" Tony asked as he pulled the jelly – grape; always grape; _only_ grape; no other jelly was allowed in his house – out of the refrigerator and carried it to the counter.

"Certainly, Sir. You would leave Miss Potts here to finish your paperwork, become exceedingly drunk and have to be carried home by Mr. Hogan or, more often, you would return home accompanied by similarly inebriated young women and proceed to engage in boisterous and obstreperous carnal acts. Miss Potts would then be summoned to the house to escort them out the next morning."

"Yeah," Tony sighed. "Those were some good times." He shook his head and located the bread, peanut butter and fluff. "But this is better."

There was a rushing silence.

"Jarv?"

"Sir, I was calculating the chances that you were being serious."

"I _am_ serious," Tony said, focusing on the sandwich construction, carefully edging the spreads and lining the bread up precisely before cutting perfect diagonals. "No hangovers, no paparazzi, no lectures from Pepper or Ob-, no passed out and pissed off Rhodey in the living room, no endless meetings with PR about how I’m fucking up the company.

"Being a paragon of virtue is pretty spectacular."

The AI snickered – a sound much like Pepper’s scoffs – then sped into another subroutine. "Yes, Sir, I would agree that you are very much a paragon of virtue."

"Damn straight," Tony agreed, arranging carrot sticks beside Pepper's sandwich and celery beside his and marching with great determination towards the living room; once there, he placed the plates on the coffee table, grabbed half of one of the sandwiches – off the plate he’d earmarked as Pepper’s, of course – and went back into the kitchen to get two glasses of milk and napkins.

"Sir, should I be going into sleep mode tonight?"

Startled, Tony answered with his mouth full of half-masticated bread, peanut butter and fluff. "No. Why do you ask?"

"I am still unclear as to the parameters of your altered relationship with Miss Potts. I wished to be proactive."

"No. You won’t be going into sleep mode tonight," he answered, "This is just two friends and co-workers having dinner and, possibly, playing a game or two of Operation."

As he walked back to the living room with the milk and napkins, and despite his protestations, Tony couldn’t help calculating the odds that he and Pepper would end up having regular, vanilla sex because she’d be so turned on by his prowess in the kitchen…and in the bedroom.

"I’m pretty sure you won’t be sleeping tonight," he said as he continued thinking. "Seventy percent sure. Fifty.

"Look, if it seems like Potts is going to jump me, you go to sleep, okay?"

"How will I know if Miss Potts intends to ‘jump you,’ Mr. Stark?"

"She’ll start breathing heavy, her heart will be racing and she’ll be poised to leap over the table at me."

"Sir, that happens on a regular basis – usually after you have ‘blown off a very important meeting’ or, and I quote, ‘acted in a way unbecoming the CEO of a major corporation _and_ a superhero.’"

"But this time I’ll have a _smile_ on my face. Okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

That addressed, Tony strode to Pepper’s office.

She was kneeling in a sea of blueprints, her hands picking up and placing down seemingly random pieces of paper. She was wearing a pants suit – something that had gravely disappointed him at nine in the morning but that was less disappointing when she shifted just right and he could see the line of her thigh muscle and the curve of her hip – much like she did in the instant before she was up on her knees and placing one blueprint on top of another. He stared at her for several seconds, remembering her on her knees during their first breakfast, the way her hair brushed his thighs, her lips tightened ar-.

"Tony, stop hovering," she groused.

He blinked, and focused on her. She was glaring at him. "What? What’d I do?" he demanded.

"Besides have mind sex with me?"

He shrugged, not bothering to deny it, and began to step into the room.

"Uh uh! Unless you’re here to tell me you know a way to force contractors to _do their job_ , you can’t come in here."

He looked down at the papers covered in blue lines and squiggles. He much preferred blueprints that spun in three-dimensions and would someday become something that went really fast.

"You need to take a break," he decided.

"I need the New York re-do to get back on schedule and budget," she corrected.

"I made us dinner," he countered.

She looked up at him and brushed hair out her face; he suppressed the urge to help. "You mean you ordered in dinner."

"No, I meant what I said. I made us dinner."

She didn’t even try to hide the expression of disbelief that flooded her face. "You don’t cook, Tony."

"I am not without skills," he said haughtily.

"I’m well aware of that," she said silkily, a slight smile playing at the edges of the mouth that felt so divine when pressed against any of a great number of his body parts.

The odds that Jarvis would be sleeping the night away – and he and Pepper wouldn’t – rose to eighty percent.

"Oh behave, Potts," he said, offering her his hand and hoping that she wouldn’t listen to him.

She took his hand, let him pull her to her feet and then, taking back her hand, said, "I meant that your skills are usually confined to the workshop." Mischief made her eyes sparkle.

He’d been played, he realized. She was good. He was better.

"Living room, now," he growled.

"Incorrigible," she grinned, stepping carefully around the blueprints and him.

"Gorgeous," he countered.

She paused as she brushed past him and flushed brilliantly. Her mouth opened, then closed. She spun on her heel and headed to the living room; he trailed after her.

She saw the dinner laid out on the coffee table and laughed; the sound unleashed a torrent of emotions, too many and too rapid to differentiate between. Tony wondered if he was starting to finally lose his mind – it had been bound to happen eventually.

"PB and J?" she chortled.

"And fluffernutter. One of each. And milk. And carrot sticks for you and celery for me. Vegetables, Potts," he pointed out, dropping to the floor and resting his back against the couch. "It's nutritious."

She raised an eyebrow.

"The veggies are nutritious. And milk! Milk does a body good. And, if I might say so, I’m sure you’ve had more than fair share of milk in your lifetime."

She rolled her eyes, but kicked her shoes off and folded herself down across from him anyway, ending with her legs crisscrossed and looking like she sat like that every day of her life.

"What?" she asked, seeing his expression.

"You’re sexy even when you’re fully dressed."

She wrinkled her nose but she smiled, too. Then she looked at her plate properly, then at his. "Why do you have two whole sandwiches but I only have one-and-a-half?" she asked, her voice deceptively even.

"It was a long walk from the kitchen."

"Why didn’t you eat your own?"

"I need sustenance. I’m a growing boy – and when I grow, very good things happen." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Don’t they?"

"Yes, Tony," she said around a mouthful of carrot. "Very good things happen."

His mouth dropped open unbecomingly.

"What?" she demanded. "Did you think I’d pretend not to know what you were talking about? I’ve experienced firsthand what you growing can do."

"We can talk about this stuff?" he demanded.

"When it’s just you and me and the time is appropriate and you feel the need to, yes, we can."

His mind began to whirl with possibilities.

"Tony, what would you have done if I’d had plans tonight?" she asked suddenly, her tone and expression neutral.

The whirling – which had been pretty fabulous – stopped and the sandwich turned to sawdust in Tony’s mouth; he’d assumed that she wasn’t seeing anyone else – Lord knew _he wasn’t_ – but maybe _she was_. Maybe she was using him for kinky, Dom sex every other weekend and seeing some vanilla stockbroker the rest of the time. "Did you?"

"Answer my question first," she prompted.

He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. He was not going to get possessive and territorial and piss her off until there was some verification that such behavior was necessary.

"Then you could’ve gone, of course," he said, recovering enough to cover his ass. "Fridays are never my time." He hadn’t intended on sounding as disappointed as he did.

The corners of her eyes and lips did a twitching thing that he’d never seen before; he filed the expression away for further study, and proceeded to gather important data. "I mean, you could have plans. You could have a date. Are you dating? Do you want to date?"

She rubbed her forehead, took a gulp of milk, then gave him a glare.

"I just want to know," he said. "I told you I’m not looking for anyone else – sub or otherwise – but we never established if that’s how you felt; I just want to be prepared if you want me to meet your boyfriend, or a potential boyfriend or a future boyfriend – a boyfriend you may have in the future." He realized he was veering dangerously close to something approaching hysteria; he took a sip of milk and attempted to redeem himself. "I mean, if you want to introduce me as your boss or your Dom or…both, I just want to establish that _before_ I meet him. I want to know what’s safe to talk about." He suddenly wished he’d poured himself a scotch. Or a vodka. Or a scotch vodka tequila.

"Are you done?" she asked as he paused to shove celery in his stupid mouth.

"Yep. Definitely done."

Pepper took a deep breath, compressed her lips into a startlingly thin line, then said, "I would not have asked you to commit to an exclusive contract if I was not going to commit to it, too. I am not pursuing any other relationships – either in The Lifestyle or outside of it."

"Good," Tony announced, realizing that his muscles were suddenly sore – almost as if he’d been tensing them for a good long while. He relaxed them and allowed his uncommonly good sense and keen attention to detail to flood back in. "Besides, I knew you _didn’t_ have plans, because when you _do_ , you tell me about them a week in advance while threatening various types of bodily harm if I do anything to prevent you from doing them.

"You also leave early to go home and get ready even though I’ve told you a hundred times you can just get ready here because that one time with Jarvis recording you taking a shower was an _accident_. He is under strict orders to never record you in your room and I turn him off during our weekends, though we might want to think about recording some stuff. We’re hot people, Potts. We do hot things together. Watching that stuff together could be…."

"Hot?" she interrupted. "Pass. I have an excellent memory – I don’t need to see it played on one of the flat screens or the Internet."

"I have unbreakable firewalls," he said proudly. "It would be for our private use."

She shook her head. "Nothing is unbreakable, Tony. No recordings." She leaned across the table and stole half of his fluffernutter sandwich.

"Hey!" Tony’s attention was immediately distracted.

"It’s only fair," she pointed out reasonably. "You stole half of mine."

"Growing boy!" he protested. "You like the growing."

She smirked. "I do like the growing – but I also need my strength."

He couldn’t argue with that. They ate in silence for several minutes before Tony introduced a topic of his own. "You were more relaxed last weekend," he remarked, trying to maintain a casual air.

She looked at him for a long moment. "Because you were more in control," she said finally. "More focused. I knew you’d keep me contained."

"And that allowed you to enjoy yourself more."

"Yes and no. I enjoyed myself plenty the first two weekends, Tony – it was just that the last one allowed me to fully experience every facet of the scene. What this does for me, why I need it sometimes, is that it allows me to just feel. I don’t have to think, I don’t have to act, I don’t have to plan – that’s _your job_. I just need to be present and listen to you and do what you tell me to do.

"I can get out of my head and into my body for a change."

She waited a beat as he chewed methodically and stared at her ruminatively.

"Go ahead," she offered. "I know you want to make a joke."

He frowned; nothing about this conversation was a joking matter. He shook his head, confused.

"Don’t you want to say something about you getting into my body, too?"

He leaned across the small table. "No, Pepper, I don’t. I appreciate that you’ve given me a great deal of trust – I’m not going to ever make light of it."

"Oh."

"Now, can we talk about my excellent gastronomic skills?" he asked, leaning back and, yet again, shifting the flow of conversation.

She smiled. "These are truly excellent sandwiches."

"You know it. Mr. Peanut himself taught me how to make them."

"I love his monocle," Pepper said, affecting a dreamy voice. "It’s sexy."

Tony smirked. "Don’t be surprised if I wear a monocle next time."

"I won’t be," she replied, draining her milk and stretching her legs out.

"I also have after-dinner entertainment for us," Tony announced, putting the empty plates and glasses on the floor over her squawks of outrage and pulling a box out from under the couch.

He plopped it on the table and she stared at it.

"Operation?"

"You need to learn how to do it, Pep."

"I’m never sticking my hand in there again." She waved her hand at his chest plate.

"Says the woman who sticks her tongue in my mouth."

"That’s different," she said, still staring at the box. "I can’t mess that up and kill you."

He reached his hand across the table and squeezed one of hers. "You _won’t_ kill me. I mean, you _may_ kill me if you continue to use your womanly wiles on me. I’m only _part_ machine, after all. I can’t be satisfying you for twenty-four hours straight."

"You’re the Master," she pointed out rationally. "I’d be content to just sit at your feet and gaze adoringly at you the whole weekend."

He narrowed his eyes. " _Sure_ you would. You’re a wanton woman – a woman who’s wanting."

"Don’t use old _Moonlighting_ lines on me. I’ve seen every episode at least twice," she said, still staring at the game. "Don’t ever make me change your RT again, Tony." Her stricken eyes met his and he squeezed her hand again, then let go of it so he could open the box.

"You _will not_ kill me, Potts. Cavity Sam, however, may want to make sure his will is up-to-date."

Her eyes narrowed as she grabbed the rules and looked them over. "I’m going to beat your ass, you know."

"Promises, promises, Potts," he said, voice low and gravely, part of his brain going to that place again – the one where she was the Dominant and he was her sub. It was a... _compelling_ fantasy.

She smiled sweetly as she passed out the Specialist cards. "It’s not a promise, it’s a fact. I’m going first." She grabbed a Doctor card, picked up the tweezers and leaned over the board, her entire focus on the task at hand.

"Oh, the Wish Bone," Tony said, his lips near her ear. "Bad way to start."

Her hand jerked and the buzzer sounded. "Not fair," she protested.

"Never said I was going to play fair," he grinned, completely unrepentant. He grabbed up a card. "Writer’s Cramp," he announced. "Now you’re going to see how steady my hands are." He bent over, and guided the tweezers into the small hole. Pepper blew into his ear, hot air that sent his blood rushing though his body.

Cavity Sam’s nose lit up.

When he picked his head to glower at her, she was leaning back, looking very happy with herself.

"Cheaters never prosper," he quoted.

"You cheated first!"

"But you know that I’m a rebel," he pointed out, shoving the tweezers at her. "Rules are for the other guy."

"Truce," she suggested. "No interference on the field."

"Did you just make a football reference?" he asked.

"Perhaps," she demurred, choosing another card.

She never stopped surprising him. It was something he really liked about her.

"Cheerleader outfit, check," he said quietly.

"As long as it’s not a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader uniform," she said darkly.

He grinned. She hadn’t spoken to him for a week after the video of him and four of the DCCs had been leaked on the Internet by a publicity-hungry cheerleader. Pepper had stopped the sale of the thing – SI’s entire Legal department was nowhere near as terrifying as Pepper Potts on a mission – but she’d made Jarvis relay messages to him for seven whole days. The AI was _still_ traumatized.

Tony wasn’t entirely sure she’d been jealous, but he kind of liked the possibility that she had been.

She was biting her lip, her eyes fixed on the card in her hand; Tony grabbed it from her and chortled. "Bread basket? You’re going down, Potts."

She raised an eyebrow at him, leaned over and easily plucked the small green rubber piece out of the stomach. "You’re not the only one with steady hands," she announced, shoving the tweezers back at him. "Your turn, Stark."

"It’s _on_ ," he grunted, preparing to kick her ass.

They played four games, each winning two, before Pepper stretched in a thrilling manner and announced that she needed to go home.

"Or you could just stay here," Tony suggested – more because he didn’t want her to be hurt if he didn’t.

She looked him over warily. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."

"Separate rooms," he clarified.

"Still not a good idea."

"Yeah," he said, leaning back nonchalantly. "I don’t need to be worried that you’re going to sneak into my room and ravish me all night."

"I think I’m the one that needs to be worried about being ravished," she pointed out – which he thought was patently unfair. He had the feeling that, left to her own devices and outside of their scenes, Pepper could hold her own in the ravishment department.

"All night," he added brightly. 

She shook her head indulgently and rose gracefully. "I’ll see you tomorrow, Tony."

He tipped his head back and rested it against the couch. "Tomorrow is Saturday, Potts – and not one of our Saturdays. Are you coming over anyway?" Since the advent of their... _other relationship_ , Pepper made a point of staying away from the mansion on Saturdays they weren’t playing.

It made Tony’s weekends very long.

She flushed. "No. Of course not. I meant I’ll see you Sunday."

"Or you could stay and we could indulge in mutual ravishment," he offered. He didn’t really expect her to accept – wasn’t entirely convinced he wanted her to - but he wanted to see her get flustered.

He’d always enjoyed flustering Pepper; prior to learning how _fun_ it was to muss her up, it had been his favorite thing to do with her.

"Next weekend," she said.

_Not soon enough_ , he thought before he could stop himself.


	13. Master punishes his little one

“Call her again, Jarvis,” Tony said, tapping the RT while he paced.

“Sir….”

“Don’t ‘Sir’ me. Just _do_ it. And check the police scanner again.”

“Sir, Miss Potts is only forty-four minutes late.”

“Pepper’s never late – not for work and definitely on ou- on certain weekends,” Tony pointed out. “Call her.”

“I have reached her voicemail once again; shall I leave a message?”

“No, start calling the hospitals,” Tony directed.

“Sir, perhaps you are overreacting a bit.”

“I’m _not_ overreacting,” Tony protested. “I’m reacting the exact correct amount. Start dialing, Jarv.”

“Sir, Miss Potts has arrived.” Jarvis sounded relieved.

“Is she okay?” Tony asked, his legs less steady than usual.

“She appears to be. Yes.”

“Good,” Tony breathed out. “Go to sleep. And thanks.”

“You are quite welcome, Sir,” Jarvis said, sounding oddly touched; he signed off just as Pepper opened the door.

She looked fine – spectacular, even – in indigo jeans that accentuated every curve and a pale blue blouse that lit her skin up, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail that made her look incredibly lovely.

Relief flooded through Tony, leaving him giddy – and angry. He’d been close to terrified for almost forty-five minutes and she hadn’t bothered to call him; he ignored the voice that reminded him he’d done far worse to her more times than could be counted over the last decade. This was _Potts_ and she was more responsible and reliable than anyone else on the planet.

She stopped short, heels skittering on the parquet, when she caught sight of him standing feet away from her, glowering with his arms crossed and his eyes blazing.

“You’re _late_ ,” he announced.

“Master, I-.”

“Why didn’t you call me, little one?”

“My BlackBerry battery died and I couldn’t find the char-.”

“You should have called,” he pointed out. “Before you left your house – to tell me where you were.”

“I _couldn’t_ ,” she snapped. “I had fifteen things to do before I got here today and my phone died in the middle of it all. I have to leave on Wednesday for New York to deal with contractors and I needed to get stuff done. I’m ridiculously busy during the week and sometimes I don’t have time to do everything I need to do for myself because I’m doing things for you.

“There were lines everywhere and construction on the PCH and I know I’m late, but I couldn’t do _anything_ about it.” She tipped her chin up defiantly and met his eyes squarely, challenging him.

 _I can be insubordinate. You’re going to have to punish me sometime, Tony_.

He’d certainly thought about it before – but only as a fantasy, merely some more arousing images to be filed away in his brain: he never wanted to actually punish her but she needed this – needed it as much as anything else they did during their weekends: he was not her friend now – not her boss, not even her lover; he was her Master and she had been late – had taken forty-five minutes of their time. There were no excuses.

 _You can do this, Stark_ , he reassured himself. _You will do this_.

He held a hand up and she fell silent, a gleam of anticipation superseding the annoyance that had been present during her tirade.

“You can’t talk yourself out of this,” he said. “This is my time and I don’t care about what you need to do to get here on time. If you don’t want to be here, you need to just say the word. You remember the word, right?” He felt like an asshole.

“Of course, Master.” Her head had gone down and her breathing had slowed; the change in her was extraordinary.

“Tell me the word, little one,” he said gently.

“If I want to stop playing I just need to say board meeting.”

Tony walked up to her, into her personal space, his toes meeting hers, his cheek brushing her lowered forehead; he could smell her hair, the watermelon-y scent that he was never quite able to get out of his head.

“I’m waiting, sweetheart,” he prompted, his voice low and intimate. “Say it and you can leave - you can go do your important errands.

“However, if you choose to stay, then you need to remember that you are in my home and on my time now.”

“I want to stay.”

“You’ll have to be corrected,” he pointed out. “I can’t allow such insolent behavior.”

“I know,” she said, her shoulders sagging slightly; Tony beat down the compulsion to pull her into his arms and kiss her temple.

“Little one, we get very little time together as it is, so every second counts. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Tell me the other words.”

“Malibu and hot rod; slow down and go faster.”

“Good,” he said sharply. “Now I’ve been waiting for almost an hour for you – I don’t want to wait anymore. Get into my bedroom.”

He could see the color spread up from the v-neck of her blouse – the rosy color that signaled arousal.

He’d kiss it, he decided. Later.

She moved away from him and towards his room; he followed in her wake, getting his head where it needed to be.

She stopped just inside the room, standing frozen with uncertainty; he brushed around her and stood facing her again.

“Look at me little one.”

She picked her head up, her expression contrite.

“You could’ve handled this situation much better.”

“I know, Master.”

He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. “And I was going to give you what you’ve been so obviously craving,” he brushed a palm over the curve of her ass; her breath caught on a little moan. “But,” he pulled away from her, “that’s going to have to wait for another day.”

She nodded her head sadly.

Tony stepped away from her and stripped quickly; she watched every motion with hunger and confusion glowing in her extraordinary eyes – the expression was completely distracting and it took every ounce of his hard-won willpower to lay down on the bed on his stomach, head pillowed on his forearms and not strip her and ravish her until she was screaming with incoherent pleasure.

“Come here,” he commanded, craning his head over his shoulder to watch her comply.

She began to unbutton her blouse. Tony cleared his throat and looked at her hands pointedly. “I don’t believe I told you to get undressed, just to come here.”

She glanced at her feet, at the high heels she was still wearing.

“Leave them on.”

She crawled up the bed, just like she had the first time they’d played, and he decided it was even sexier with her fully clothed.

And that he really needed her to do it more often. Daily. Hourly, even.

Once she drew even with his waist, she stopped moving and folded herself into a pose he recognized from the websites he’d visited: head down, hands folded in her lap, ass resting on her heels.

“I’m happy to see that you’re starting to remember who you are right now,” Tony observed, trying his damnedest to sound authoritative and dispassionate despite the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Now, I need you to use that pretty mouth to do something other than be impertinent.”

She mumbled something as she shifted, moving herself towards the foot of the bed.

“What was that little one?”

“To service you,” she said slightly louder. “My mouth is to service you.”

Arousal tore through him, followed by shame – an unfamiliar, intense feeling that tore at his heart; he would never have said that to her – didn’t like her saying it.

She began kissing the bottom of his feet and his stomach tightened; he really hadn’t thought this through. Feet kissing didn’t do a thing for him – but then her tongue and her lips were on the back of his calves and it was much, much better. He closed his eyes, let the sensations wash over him – the heat, the moisture, the pressure – the swirling motions that tickled the backs of his knees and felt heavenly on the backs of his thighs – her hands pushing at the muscle and skin, spreading him. He complied before he realized what she meant to do; in the instant that he did he realized he really, _really_ hadn’t thought through the punishment anywhere near enough.

He’d never really enjoyed anyone touching or playing with or, good God, licking his anus – never found it anything more than strange and vaguely disturbing. But Pepper, Pepper made it feel filthy wet and obscenely incredible. He shut his eyes tightly and rode the sensations, tried not to think about what she was doing even though it felt so, so good; his cock stirred in appreciation, oblivious to the turmoil in his head.

Too soon and not soon enough she’d moved on, her soft hands brushing the globes of his ass as she licked a stripe up the center of his back, following his spine, nipping at the ridges. Her fingernails dug into the crease where his ass met his legs and he bit back a whimper.

Her lips found his shoulder blades, the nape of his neck, the arches and lobes of his ears and he was hard, dripping, smearing pre-cum against the sheets of his bed.

“Master,” she whispered before her tongue was in his ear, hot and dirty. He tipped his head away from her and flipped onto his back, fighting to remember how to breathe.

“Continue,” he said, his voice far less firm than he would’ve liked it to be.

Her eyes dropped to his lips and he wanted her to kiss him, wanted it like nothing else – needed it like oxygen, flight – like he’d once needed his next drink.

Her eyes fell away from his mouth, and she set her lips upon the column of his throat, whispering words into his skin.

“Speak up,” he prompted.

“I’m sorry, Master,” she said, the vibrations sparking across his skin, through his blood. “I’m sorry.”

He hummed his acknowledgement of her apology, of her reasons for not kissing him – she hadn’t felt she’d earned it yet.

He wanted to stop her, wanted to tell her she was forgiven – that she’d never been not forgiven; that he didn’t want _this_ precisely; that he was doing this for her, not for himself - but her lips were coursing quickly down the plane of his stomach, moving with precision to where his cock stood tall and hard and needy and he wanted her lips there, too.

 _This is for her_ , he reminded himself, _for her, for her, for her needs and wants and desires_.

Then her mouth was on him and every single thought that wasn’t _warm, wet, yes, please, please_ was shoved out of his head.

She was good at it, so very, very good – far better than he had ever thought or dreamed or fantasized that she would or could be – her tongue coursing over every piece of sensitive skin with practiced ease and unerring accuracy. Her hair swishing as she worried at him with lips and tongue and teeth, slowly, maddeningly.

And he was done with this. Wanted it to be over – wanted to be able to be the unselfish Master again.

“Stop,” he croaked.

She did, instantly, her head coming up, her forehead puckered in confusion.

“Little one, are you sincerely sorry for what you did?”

“Very much so, Master.”

“Then you have forty-five seconds to make me come with your mouth. If you don’t, I’m going to have to punish you again.”

He knew she could do it, needed her to do it; he had no idea what he’d do if she didn’t.

 _You really need to start thinking things through better, Master_ , the sarcastic, caustic voice in his head admonished.

She stepped up her efforts, her fingers reaching for his balls and he moaned out her name – her weekend name – and she whimpered, the sound sending shock waves through his cock and into his stomach. The ponytail began swinging in counterpoint to her bobbing movements, then, on the downslide, her tongue did a wicked flicking, twisting thing and she hummed and he was gone, with twenty seconds to spare – the climax hitting like a thunderbolt or a lightning bolt or a fucking _missile_ – hurtling him into the rushing, bleeding whiteness. 

When he gasped back to the bed it was to find Pepper kneeling upright between his shaking legs, her ass resting on her heels, fingers twisted into the sheets, eyes ravenous.

“Do what you need to do to come,” he said, his voice trembling embarrassingly; he needed to see it – needed to be assured that she got some pleasure out of this whole twisted scene.

She moved quickly with a startling economy of movement; she was straddling his left hip in seconds, rubbing herself down against the bone and muscle, her fingers digging into the skin of his stomach, her eyes fixed on his face. Her motions accelerated and she was fucking herself against his hipbone, staring at him intently, her mouth open slightly.

Tony lay frozen, recording every second, every movement. It was the most erotic moment of his very long sexual life.

The denim and whatever was beneath must have been contributing to the exquisite friction because her pants became moans and her motions began to become more and more wild, until she was bucking uncontrollably and then shuddering and breaking against him, grasping and grabbing at his skin – leaving red marks that would inevitably turn into bruises.

Finished, she fell away from him, slumping bonelessly backwards.

“Holy shit,” he said, moving to cover her spent form with his, pressing her down into the bed and whispering words of dark praise into her ears; kissing her like he’d wanted to – needed to – since the last time they’d been together.

She turned her face into his neck and licked the line of the tendon.

Adjectives swam through his brain – exquisite, beautiful, _mine_ , necessary, incredible – but only one was transformed into words: “You’re unbelievable,” he whispered, pulling back to look at her flushed face.

“Thank you, Master.”

 _Oh, yeah_ , he remembered. _That_.

“You’re also a naughty girl,” he said, reinserting himself in the role. “Why were you being punished?”

“Because I was insubordinate, insolent, rude and disrespectful to you.”

“Yes, you were,” he agreed, rolling to press against her side – her clothes rubbing against his sensitized skin in a way that was not wholly unpleasant, “And all because I was _worried_ about you.” He ran his fingers through the soft curve of her ponytail; she shuddered and leaned into his fingers.

“I know, Master, and I’m sorry. I should’ve paid more attention to the time.” She took a deep breath, like she was readying to dive or plunge or otherwise hurtle herself into empty air. “I worry about you, too, you know.”

“What? When? You know where I am at all times. I swear you have a lo-jack implanted in my left butt cheek.”

“Uh uh. The right one. It’s just a little bit meatier,” she said playfully.

“I’ll have you know I’m perfectly symmetrical,” Tony groused, craning his head, trying to see his ass. “Do you know how many times my body parts have been measured and molded?”

“By whom?” she asked, her tone perfectly polite – above reproach; but with an edge only he would be able to recognize.

He returned his attention to her and smiled. “All in the name of science, little one, I promise you.”

She looked slightly queasy - brought the conversation back to where it had been. “I hate watching you on missions – on CNN or MSNBC or…I can’t get to you. It’s terrifying.”

“But cool,” he countered.

“Not on my end,” she disagreed softly.

“I try to be careful,” he said, and it was the truth; he had been much less heedless and careless since they’d started their…arrangement.

“I know,” she said, closing her eyes and he wondered if she was seeing flashes of red and gold, missiles and tanks and planes.

“I’m _careful_ ,” he said again. “And Jarvis is there and the _phone is always on_.”

Her eyes popped open, back once again in the room where they were safe and together; she flushed.

“Don’t ever, ever, ever make me do something like this again,” he chided gently.

She knew just what he was talking about, didn’t comment on the change in topic. 

“I can’t promise that. I try very hard to be in the proper headspace when I arrive here, but it’s not always possible.” She smiled encouragingly at him. “You did fine, you know.”

“No, I didn’t – I didn’t enjoy it.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“I mean I _did_ , because, _damn_ you have _skills_ , but I felt guilty about it – I want our time together to be good for you.”

“It is. No matter what. This is part of it all. You are my Master and you deserve my respect and obedience; I was giving you neither.”

“You deserve my respect, too,” he pointed out; it was very important that she know that.

“I know that I have it,” she said soothingly. “Besides, as far as punishments go, that was infinitely better than scrubbing floors or cleaning shoes.”

Tony’s heart sped up and the world took on a red cast. “With your tongue?” he demanded. “Did one of those sick fucks make you do shit with your tongue?”

He hated the bastards – hated them for treating her shoddily, for having her first, for not realizing how spectacular she was.

Though the last thing was a godsend, really, when he thought about it.

She barked out a startled laugh. “No! With toothbrushes and polish.” She paused for a beat. “But I was naked.”

Of course she’d been naked – anyone who’d had the privilege of seeing Pepper naked would find any excuse to keep her that way; Tony was still trying to figure out a way to convince her that she needed to be naked whenever she was in his house. Weekdays included.

He realized with a start that her eyes had gone rather dreamy; he was suddenly overwhelmed with primitive, caveman levels of possessiveness - he sure as hell didn’t want her thinking about anyone else when she was in his bed.

“Hey! You're with me now,” he reminded her.

She blinked and smiled warmly, her eyes focused instantly on his face. “Yes. I most certainly am.”

“So you don’t miss scrubbing on your hands and knees. Naked.” A picture was forming in his head – Pepper on her hands and knees on the kitchen floor with him behind her and nary a scrub brush in sight.

“No, Master. Not at all. I enjoy your,” she paused, “ _inventiveness_ very much.”

 _Suck it losers, I’m inventive_ , he thought with considerable pride.

“You’re staying ninety extra minutes tomorrow,” he announced, fully aware that he’d gone out on a shaky limb. Pepper stuck to the schedule to the second; but he figured it was worth a try, considering her late arrival.

Her left eyebrow arched up. “I was only forty-five minutes late.”

“I deserve an extra forty-five minutes for the pain and suffering I had to live through as I pictured you in a coma or kidnapped or, worse, running away with a stockbroker or a dungeon master.”

“I’m not running away with anyone,” she said, her tone curiously resolute.

His stomach flipped again – he was starting to feel like he was on some sort of endless roller coaster ride – and he said, “So you’ll give me an extra ninety minutes tomorrow?”

“We’ll see,” she demurred.

“I hear yes,” he said, his focus drawn suddenly to her lips.

“Don’t you always?”

“Always hearing yes makes life so much better,” he explained, then kissed her again and again.


	14. Tony and Pepper miss each other. A little

"Potts. Potts. Pepper. Potts. Virginia Mar-."

Pepper’s face, annoyed and harried, filled the screen as her voice, just as annoyed and harried, filled the air of his workshop. "Tony, what now?"

"‘Tony, what now?’" he echoed. " _What now?_ You abandoned me…."

"Left on a business trip to make sure that your East Coast mansion is exactly the way you want it…."

"For three days…"

"I’ve been gone for _two_."

"And all I get is a _what now_?"

"Tony, I talked to you four times yesterday and three times today," she reminded him. "In addition, I’ve sent you numerous email and text updates, told you where you left the keys to the Saab, ordered your dinner and mediated a dispute between you and Rhodey about which Star – Trek or Wars – is better."

"Trek, of course," he said.

"Of course," she echoed. "So, I ask again, what now?"

"Jarvis missed you and I told him I’d call you."

"Jarvis? Do you miss me?" Pepper asked, her eyes fixed on Tony’s.

"Excruciatingly, Miss Potts. Mr. Stark has been insuf-."

"Thanks, Jarvis," Tony said, "That’ll be all."

"I’d like to hear the rest of what Jarvis has to say."

"There’s nothing else he needs to say – you heard the important part: he misses you excruciatingly."

"How about the 'bots, do they miss me, too?"

"You does; he’s been moping around with one of your notebooks clasped in his claw. Dummy doesn’t even realize you’re gone; I think he’s still a little traumatized by my tying him up."

"Poor Dummy. But it _was_ for the greater good."

"I’m happy you think so, Potts," he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

She shook her head in bemusement and asked, "So does anyone else miss me?"

"Rhodey does. Jane in Legal has been sleeping in your office at SI and Mike in R & D has vowed to not shower until you come home. And I may miss you a little bit. But not excruciatingly or anything," he added quickly; after all, he had a reputation to uphold. "Do you miss me?" he asked.

The last of her annoyance fled; her tone was warm and affectionate as she said, "Maybe a little bit. I’ll be right back."

"What? Where are you going?"

But she’d already stood up and walked away from the computer, giving Tony a good look at her outfit: a tight green sweater and a black skirt that was far shorter and tighter than anything he’d ever seen her in. She looked fucking incredible.

Through the haze of arousal, he realized that Potts was speaking to someone. He heard words and phrases in her familiar voice – _fine; he needs; ten minutes; thanks_ – but couldn’t pick out the responses from the other person.

Less than a minute later, she was back, looking directly at him, an enormous smile on her face. "You have ten minutes; how can I help you, Mr. Stark?"

"Was that Peg?" he asked, shooting for curious neutrality.

"Who’s Peg?"

"The housekeeper."

"The housekeeper’s name is Julia," she said, lips twitching with amusement. "And no, it wasn’t Julia. It was my next appointment."

"It’s," he craned his head to find a clock, "seven in New York – seven at night." He let the words hang there while mentally calculating the flight time to his house in the Hamptons.

"It is," she clarified, but didn’t elaborate; her eyes were dancing, enjoying every bit of his discomfort.

_Stop it, you don't own her. Don't pursue this. Trust her._

She blinked at him, head tipped to the side, waiting for the inevitable.

He opened his mouth then slammed it shut again. Took a deep breath. "So, we have ten minutes before your next appointment. How was your day?"

She laughed. "My day was fine. Aren’t you going to ask who my next appointment is with? Don’t you want to know if it’s a _date_?"

"It’s your business," he said, teeth gritted against the questions that wanted to fly from his lips, locked down in opposition to every instinct he possessed.

She took a deep breath and leaned closer to the monitor and for the first time ever, Tony didn’t even try to look down her sweater – her very low-cut sweater. Mostly didn't even try to look down it. For several seconds at least.

"But you want to know, don’t you?"

"It’s. Your. Business," he ground out. If she made him open his mouth one more time he wouldn’t be responsible for what came out of it.

"I’m proud of you, Tony. And because you trusted me and didn’t ask, I’ll tell you. One of my college roommates lives close to your house; we’re going out for dinner."

"You went to an all-women’s college, right?"

"No," she laughed, "But I did go to one with very strict rules about women only rooming with other women."

"Good," he breathed out, then realized how transparent he was being. "How close were you and this roommate? Any stories about naked pillow fights or showering together you want to share, Potts?"

She rolled her eyes. "Eight minutes. Is this what you want to talk about?"

"Yes. No. Yes, I want to talk about it – later. Why aren’t you coming home tomorrow?"

She blinked, trying to keep up with him. "Because I have matters here I need to attend to. I need three more days."

"But this memo you sent me," he opened the email on another monitor, "says that you’ve got the contractors back on track." He looked at her again. "Mission accomplished."

"Yes, I’ve got the contractors under control," she paused and smiled scarily: like a shark, with all of her teeth showing; Tony suppressed a shudder and, momentarily, was very happy that she was in New York and he was in Malibu. "But now I’m battling the building inspector. Are you _definitely_ sure that you need a helipad?"

"Of course I need it, Potts. Take a meeting with him dressed like _that_ and he’ll okay anything."

Her eyes flickered down at herself, then back up to Tony’s face. "You were worried that I was going on a date, but you’re telling me to bribe the building inspector with sexual favors?"

"I didn’t say sexual favors," he protested. "When did I say sexual favors? No sexual favors needed - just dress like that and he’ll do whatever you want and then you can come home sooner."

"Why would you want me home sooner?" she asked. "You used to _like_ it when I left you alone – you used to _beg_ me to go out of town."

"Sure, because that meant I could carouse…."

"Carouse," she said wryly, "Is that what you’re calling your systematic program of debauchery?"

"As a superhero I believe that I am entitled to some creative revision of history," he countered. "You being on another side of the country - or in another country altogether – meant that I could carouse with abandon…."

"Which you _did_ ," she said dryly.

"But I don’t carouse anymore, I spend time with you and the suit and Jarvis, but I’ve created world peace, Jarvis isn’t really talking to me and you’re 2918.9 miles away. I have nothing to do."

"I made very sure that you were going to be busy while I was gone."

"Meetings don’t count," he protested.

"They weren’t _meetings_ , Tony, they were play dates with the Green people and R&D."

"The Green people are too serious and the R&D guys are all nerdy. And guys. Only five or six of them are hot at all."

"Which ones are those exactly?" she asked, her playful tone matching Tony’s. "Is Mike one of them?"

"Don’t you worry about Mike – or any of them. I’m the only nerd you’re going to be…," he dwindled because he had no idea how to end the sentence.

"Serving," she suggested helpfully. "Doing?"

He frowned. "I don’t like those labels. They only speak to one aspect of our relationship," he said, the words coming to him rapidly. "And while it’s okay that I like that aspect – that you like that aspect – there’s more to it than that."

"Of course it’s okay and of course there is."

"We have a good balance, don’t we?"

"We do," she said. "We always have."

"I want another word."

Her eyebrows went up. "So what word do you want to use?"

That was a harder question – one he hadn’t planned on answering during a video chat, but he also hadn’t planned on her looking quite so enticing when she was on the other side of the country and going out where she would possibly be surrounded by good looking men who weren’t flawed, who didn’t have arc reactors in their chests and who hadn’t made her life miserable for a decade. He suddenly wanted a label, something to calm the jets of uncomfortable and alien emotion in his stomach – something that she agreed to when she wasn’t coming down off of a climax and in the midst of playing.

He thought it through; she smiled encouragingly at him, waiting patiently for him to work through his impressive vocabulary and find a word to describe them.

"I’m the only nerd you’re going to be _involved_ with," he said finally.

"Involved," she said, rolling the word off her tongue like she was tasting it, seeing if she liked the flavor of it.

"Yeah," he said, warming to the appellation. "We’re involved." He paused and looked at her again. "Right? I mean we don’t see other people and we spend most of our time together and, of course, we have scorching sex every other weekend. Involved seems to fit."

Her lips twitched and her eyes warmed. "Yes, we’re involved."

He nodded definitively. "Happy we got that resolved. Now tell me more about your experimental college days."

"My college days were boring."

"Make something up."

"I wouldn’t even know where to begin."

"Once upon a time there was a hot redhead who had a hot roommate and one night the hot redhead came home to find the hot roommate sleeping naked because it was so hot…," he started. "Now, you take it from there."

She laughed. "Why don’t you finish that story, Iron Man? I need to go."

"Yeah, so do I," he said. "I have plans tonight, too."

Her eyes sharpened; he was happy to see it – maybe he wasn’t the only one who was a little jealous and possessive.

"Don’t you want to know what they are?" he teased.

"That’s your business," she said carefully.

"Good job, Potts," he said. "And because you didn’t start to question me, I’ll tell you what I’m doing tonight while you go eat dinner with your _female_ ex-roommate. I figured I’d spend some time practicing a new rope tying technique."

Her breathing sped up and he could see the flush crawl up from the deep vee of her sweater.

"Oh," she breathed out.

"You like that, don’t you?"

"I do," she said breathily. "I really, really do."

"Excellent," he said briskly. "Have a good time tonight, Potts. I’ll talk to you tomorrow." He shut the monitor off and smiled happily.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"It’s a very good night."

"If you say so, Sir."

"I do," Tony said. "I do. Hey! You! Get over here!"


	15. Shibari and sushi

By four on their fifth Saturday, Cameron Poe and Cyrus the Virus were riding on top of a fire truck through the streets of Las Vegas and Pepper was practically vibrating beside Tony.

He’d felt it, of course - the tension, the anticipation; had watched as it built through the chaste kisses he’d given her at the door, the lunch in the kitchen, both of them on opposite sides of the table and him leading the discussion through innocuous topics, the quiet afternoon spent on the couch watching Con Air.

He’d watched it and, in some perverse way, enjoyed it – the dark, heady rush of knowing that she was stretched tight, fraying with the desire, the want, for what only he could give her.

She shot him another look; her color was hectic and her eyes overly bright.

He smiled calmly at her. “I really love this part. I’m thinking of stealing a fire truck and recreating it the next time we’re in Vegas.”

Her eyes widened incredulously as she swallowed what she really wanted to say. “You could just buy one,” she said finally. 

“But that’s not as much fun,” he pointed out, brushing a kiss against her hair – down in curls and waves against her shoulders; she dropped her eyes and sighed in response; disdainfully.

Tony had become an expert on Pepper’s sighs through the years, knew each and every one, was fluent in them – could tell by the vibration and length when she was angry at him, frustrated, disdainful, when she was tired and _just couldn’t take it anymore_ , when she was content and happy and, of course, when she was satiated and just this side of conscious after he’d driven her to heights she’d never been driven to before. He’d vastly enjoyed learning _that_ sigh.

She sighed again, a little louder than before. It was definitely one from the disdainful family.

“Is there something you’d like to say, little one?” he prompted. 

Things were blowing up and crashing onscreen; he barely paid attention.

“No, Master.” She sighed again: disdainful _and_ frustrated; it’d taken him several years to learn the subtleties of the complex sighs. 

“I think there is,” he said encouragingly. “I’d be happy to listen.”

She cut her eyes to his. “I don’t want to be punished.”

“You won’t be,” he vowed; _hopefully never again_ , he added internally. They’d discussed the guilt during lunch on a Wednesday. She’d assured him it was normal and unnecessary; normal because he was, at his heart, a decent (if immature, often annoying, usually difficult) person and unnecessary because she’d _enjoyed_ it. He’d taken what he wanted from the conversation - no reason to feel bad, but it’s okay that you do; you’re decent – and ignored the other stuff (annoying, difficult, immature). It had helped, but he didn’t want to test exactly how much.

He never wanted to punish her again.

“Go ahead,” he said when she didn’t speak.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You’ve barely touched me, Master, and you told me that you were practicing a new rope tying technique, and I thought…” she trailed off.

“That I was going to tie you up and ravish you senseless the second you walked in the door.”

“I was rather hoping,” she said.

“My naughty, needy girl,” he laughed. “It’s not just about sex, remember?”

“But it can be,” she said earnestly.

On the screen Cameron Poe was hugging his wife and little girl; in his living room, Tony Stark was resisting the urge to tumble Pepper Potts to the floor and ravish her as senselessly as she wanted him to.

“But I have something else planned and I really want to do it, little one,” he said.

Her eyes grew larger and her skin flushed deeper pink. “I’m in your capable hands, Master.”

That pushed a big button for him. Her complete trust and faith in him touched him in ways he’d never expected. Something swelled in his chest, pleasurably painful, until he pushed it away; he didn’t have the time or the attention-span to figure out what it was all about.

 _Stick to the plan, Stark_.

Garland Greene was placing a bet and the end titles began to roll.

It was time.

“My room,” he said laconically. “Now.”

She smiled joyfully and bolted to her feet, hurrying off; Tony followed more slowly, wanting her to wait for him.

She was standing at the foot of the bed, staring at the white dress spread out on it, at the blue strappy sandals sitting beside the dress, when Tony finally ambled his way into the room.

“Like them, little one?” he asked, embracing her from behind and nuzzling her ear. 

“You don’t need to buy me things, Master,” she said and he knew what she meant: Don’t buy me things, Tony.

“But I like buying things for you,” he said, running his tongue along the line of her neck. “And you’re going to look beautiful in that dress. And those shoes….” He let her fill in the blanks as he began tugging at the bottom of her t-shirt; she obediently raised her arms. Her shirt and bra were gone in seconds, then he unbuckled her belt, the shikking sound as he pulled it free of the loops making him hard.

 _Not now_ , he reminded himself, willing his cock into flaccidity - she was leaning back against him, which didn’t make it easy at all. He made quick work of her shorts, then slid his fingers into the waistband of the pink slip of fabric masquerading as panties.

“No more underwear when you’re in my house,” he decided. “Understand, little one?”

“Certainly, Master.” If her huge grin and flushed skin were any indication, it appeared to be a request she was more than happy to comply with. 

He pushed off the last of her clothing and spent several pleasurable moments mouthing kisses along the line of her spine; once he had her gasping and writhing, he whispered, “I promised you ropes.”

Pepper craned her head back and shot him an incendiary look.

“Do you trust me?”

“Entirely.”

Her trust, her willingness to allow him to do things to her was the best drug ever; he was hopelessly addicted.

He stepped away from her and to the drawer with the coil of jute rope, carefully prepared for this.

“ _Shibari_ ,” he said. “Have you heard of it?”

Her back was still to him – he didn’t even have to tell her not to look. She nodded her head slowly.

“Ever tried it?”

She shook her head no.

It made him very happy to be the first at _something_ with her.

“I thought long and hard about what color ropes I’d use,” he said, walking up behind her again and running the ends of the rope down her back. She whimpered.

“Pink would’ve matched your pretty skin…your delicious pussy.” He leaned forward and nipped at her neck; she shuddered. “Or red to match your skin at the moment you climax for me.”

“Oh God,” she breathed out.

“I contemplated using white – but you’re not innocent, are you?” He gently scraped the jute along the skin of her ass.

“Not at all, Master,” she ground out, her head falling forward; he licked the line of her scapulae.

“But you’re not entirely wicked either – so black wasn’t right either,” he observed once he was done tasting her skin. “Besides, you wear too much of it as it is.”

She nodded in agreement, then let out a strangled cry.

“What, little one?”

“Please, Master, I need…” she said.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she whimpered, shaking.

He chuckled, inordinately pleased to see that he’d so thoroughly destroyed her composure.

“Do you need this?” he asked, shifting the heavy coil into one hand so he could brush its mate over her belly, nipples, clit. She pushed into his skin and moaned, heavy and low. “Or please _this_?” He pushed the rope against the skin of her back. That earned him a louder moan.

Guess that answered his question.

“I almost chose the green of the sweater you were wearing in New York the night we decided on a name for this thing between us,” he continued, letting the rope unspool and brush against the back of her legs. She made a high noise and leaned back into him. "But then I decided I wanted you to wear ropes the color of your eyes. I do love looking into them, little one – especially when you’re writhing beneath me.” 

He finally circled around her so she could see what he was holding in his hands – so she could see the long length of thin rope, colored to match the loveliest blue he’d ever seen. He held one end of it up to her face, comparing. “I spent a long time mixing the exact color. The dyeing alone took three days. I think I did a good job.”

Her eyes were fixed on the rope, then they snapped to his face and she leaned forward. He allowed the kiss, allowed her to dictate the intensity and depth of it; for once he melted into her mouth. It was only when he felt the rope slipping from nerveless fingers that he remembered he had work to do.

He’d practiced this for hours while she was gone; he’d drawn up schematics and practiced on You and the football suit until he’d created a pattern uniquely their own.

“Hold your hair up,” he told her as he made an overhand knot; she fumbled with the heavy mass, holding it out of his way so he could lay the knot against the back of her neck.

“Arms out,” he prompted, “legs spread.”

She assumed the posture, her hair tumbling back down to her shoulders and covering the beginning of the pattern. She looked just like a delectable Vitruvian man.

“Don’t lock your knees,” he counseled as guided the rope over her shoulders and rested the next knot exactly between the bottom of her rib cage and her perfect belly button. He allowed himself the indulgence of lapping at the tiny indentation before working his way down her legs, ending right above her knees – right above where the hem of the white dress would lie – and passing it through her legs, his skin sliding against where she was already torrid and drenched.

“Mmmmm,” she murmured.

“So needy,” he tsked, drawing the rope loosely against her back and making a fifth knot. He fed the rope through the loop at her neck than began to weave the pattern – diamond shapes drawn by rope the color of Pepper’s eyes – knots pressing against her clit and her anus – rope pressing against her skin, reminding her with every breath what he was doing to her.

Without prompting she began to move her arms behind her back. He chuffed.

He had no intention of binding her arms behind her – this was about art and beauty – about enhancing the loveliness before him – not about contorting her into bizarre and painful positions. 

“I’ll tell you what to do, sweetheart. Just stand there and let me work. You don’t need to do anything but let me make you into a piece of art.”

“Of course, Master,” she said, her voice trembling appreciably.

He worked in a silence punctuated by her gasps for almost thirty minutes before he tied the last knot and stepped back.

He walked around her, taking in his handiwork as it pushed against her skin – the intricate pattern highlighting and enhancing her beauty.

“Enchanting,” he decided. “Utterly enchanting.” He looked deep into her eyes. “Give me a word, little one.”

“Hot rod. Definitely hot rod. Completely hot rod,” she said.

He chuckled, then kissed her, his fingers tracing along the soft skin and the rough rope, until she was breathless again, her heaving attempts at respiration tightening the restraints against her slightly.

“Do you want to see?” he asked huskily once he was able to exert his iron will and draw back from her.

“Yes, please, Master. Yes. Oh, yes.”

“One yes would have been sufficient,” he said indulgently, leading her to the mirrored wall of his closet. She stared at herself; he rested his chin on her shoulder and stared, too.

It was insanely beautiful and unspeakably erotic.

“You sure about the no picture rule?” he joked.

She blinked and caught the reflection of his eyes. “I’d be amenable to four, Master – but please assure me that they will never be seen by anyone else.”

He gulped. She was serious.

Holy shit.

“Don’t move,” he said firmly. “And they won’t, I promise.”

The next ten minutes were spent scrambling around the workshop until, triumphantly, he found the good camera - a cell phone was not going to cut it for an occasion so momentous. He raced back up the stairs before catching himself, sauntering back into his bedroom as if nothing important was happening.

He took the four pictures then placed the camera reverently on the armoire and looked her up and down once more. “We need to get you dressed.”

Her mouth dropped open and confusion flooded her face; he noted it, but he was already turning to the bed, picking up the white dress and dropping it over her body. He’d chosen the dress carefully, picking one that had a boat neck to accent the long lines of her neck and a fitted waist to highlight her trim torso. With its full skirt and three-quarter length sleeves, she could have been Audrey Hepburn – if Audrey had ever allowed herself to be bound by an adoring Master.

He was happy to see careful attention to detail was not in vain: the material covered the rope exactly – the only hint of the jute pressing against her skin was the ghostly blue lines that couldn’t be hidden by the white fabric.

“Perfect,” he proclaimed, grabbing the shoes and sitting on the edge of the bed. He tugged at her foot meaningfully; she rested one small hand on his shoulder and lifted her right foot so he could slide the sandal on and strap it around her ankle. She dropped her foot to the floor and lifted the left one. He could feel a slight tremble in the hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked, craning his head up to look at her.

“I was just wondering wh-. Are we going somewhere?”

“Out to dinner,” he answered, standing and running his fingers through her hair. She was unfuckingbelievably gorgeous and she was his.

She glanced down at herself, taking in the fact that it was very obvious that she was in bondage beneath her clothing. Her head snapped up. “Master?” Her tone was tentative, anxious, even.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked. “I don’t want anyone else looking at you anymore than you do. It’ll be okay. I promise.

“Do you believe me?”

She nodded, sharply – her trepidation writ large across her face.

He smiled and squeezed her arms, kissed her forehead. “Let’s go.”

He took her hand and led her out, down the hall and away from the front door to one that opened onto the back of the house. 

Her breath caught and her hand tightened in his as she took in the nest of gold and indigo pillows and the low table set beneath the white tent.

“Sit,” he instructed; she settled onto pillows, squeaking as the knots between her legs offered delicious friction and stimulation.

“Does it feel good?” he asked; he knew it did – he just wanted to hear her say it.

“Incredibly good,” she said, rocking gently, grinding into the knot against her clit.

“Stop that,” he said firmly. “We’re eating first.”

“Sorry, Master,” she said, her fingers digging into one of the soft pillows.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed. “Now I’m going into the pool house to get our dinner. Are you going to behave while I’m gone?”

“Yes, Sir.” She swallowed heavily.

“No rocking, no grinding,” he enumerated. “And absolutely no climaxes until I give you permission. I’ll be back shortly.”

She sat very still, breathing very slowly and nodded her acquiescence and understanding.

The food had been delivered as instructed, Jarvis allowing the owner of Pepper’s favorite sushi restaurant onto the property while they’d been busy watching movies.

It was one of the proudest moments of Tony’s life: using extraordinary ingenuity and stealth, he’d been able to plan and execute a surprise of epic proportions without Pepper’s knowledge or help; he was pretty sure he’d created the best scene of her life.

Pepper was sitting frozen, staring at the ripples on the pool when Tony arrived back with the food and water.

“Little one?”

She smiled at him, tightly. “I didn’t move, Master. It was hard, but I did as you asked.”

“I’m pleased,” he said, dropping the food on the table and himself on the pillows beside her. “Come here, sweetheart.”

She moved carefully and slowly into his arms, settling back against his chest.

“Breathe,” he reminded her and she let out a shaky breath, then another, then a third. By the fourth she was breathing more smoothly. Tony pressed a kiss into her temple then presented her with a piece of Philadelphia roll. She took the food and chewed slowly while Tony popped a piece with maki in his mouth and ate voraciously.

“Sushi Oaks?” she asked after she swallowed.

“Mmmhmm,” he acknowledged with food in his mouth.

“And you planned this whole thing?”

“I did,” he chirped.

She shifted so she was facing him. The movement drew a deep, quick breath from her. “I had no idea this was going on,” she said, a note of stunned amazement beneath the edge of arousal.

“You weren’t supposed to,” he said, dipping a piece of spider roll into soy sauce and guiding it into her mouth. “I’m the Master. I create the scenes.”

Her teeth nipped at his fingers and he was almost sure that it wasn’t an accident. Her tongue pressed against his fingertips, lapping at the remnants of the soy sauce and he was sure it was on purpose. She withdrew her mouth from his fingers slowly, sliding her tongue across the ridges and whorls as if she was trying to memorize them. 

“You are _so_ turned on right now, aren’t you?” he deduced.

“Wholly.”

“And I’m hungry,” he said, pressing his lips to hers then drawing away. “Have more sushi.”

Her hands were trembling but she was able to navigate another piece of Philadelphia roll into her mouth.

He popped a piece of food into his mouth; she watched his lips as he chewed and smiled at her. “I think You likes it when I tie him up,” he said.

She blinked rapidly. “Pardon?”

“So polite,” he grinned. “I practiced,” his fingers trailed over the rope surrounding her breasts, pressing the fabric of her dress and the rope against her skin firmly; she writhed against him, “on You – Dummy won’t let me near him with a piece of rope in my hands – and he liked it.”

“Why do you think that?” she asked, obviously struggling to participate in the conversation.

Tony fed her another piece of sushi and answered. “He’s been following me around, chirping, every time I’m in the shop. He’s _nudging_ me. I caught him trundling around with some of the undyed jute in his claw. You may have some competition, little one.”

She snorted, eyes dancing, then clapped her hands over her mouth.

“I like when you laugh, it’s nice,” he said, kissing her gently. “And it is funny. Somehow – not quite sure how – I ended up with a submissive PA _and_ a submissive robot.”

“Because you were meant to be a Master,” she said, chuckling.

He wasn’t sure about that. The more he thought about it, the more he thought that maybe he was meant to be what she needed him to be.

“Is Dummy afraid of You, too?” she asked, shaking him out of his reverie

“Dummy is afraid of everything,” he said, feeding her then himself. “I can’t believe he’s so neurotic. And Jarvis is way too curious. I think he’s been doing research on BDSM without telling me – there’s been some interesting search activity. I figure I’ll wake up one morning to find that he’s ordered leather and whips.”

“And ball gags,” she added. “Possibly a whipping bench. Do you think he wants to be the Dom?”

“Little one, God,” he spit out. “Stop.” 

“I could see Jarvis being into BDSM,” she continued. “After all, he does have a _hard_ drive.” 

He winced. “Bad joke.”

“ _Big_ cables. _Thick_ transistors.”

“Stop,” he begged. “Jarvis is just a friend, I swear.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, amusement flashing in her eyes. 

“Dummy on the other hand…,” he teased.

She laughed harder, then whimpered and gasped as the ropes tightened against her sensitized skin. “Laughing while in _Shibari_ is ill-advised.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t expect this,” she explained; her eyes slipping closed to savor the sensations. “It’s incredible.”

“You’re incredible,” he said, his eyes warming.

“Master,” she said tentatively, her tongue emerging from her mouth to lick at her lips.

“Change of subject,” he ordered. “Leather and whips. Go.” She was seriously testing his willpower but he’d planned the weekend carefully; taking her had to wait.

“I’m not into whips,” she said, opening glazed eyes. “But the thought of you in leather is…intriguing.”

“How did you keep this side of yourself hidden from me for so long?” he demanded, his stomach twisting at the thought of leather sliding all over his body.

She met his eyes squarely, suddenly keenly focused. “You weren’t looking.”

He blinked at her, trying to read the subtext.

“You were distracted,” she added.

“I’m looking now,” he said. “I’m focused now.”

“Yes, you are,” she smiled, taking a deep breath and biting her lip as the ropes provided friction.

They ate in silence for several minutes before he had to ask, “Did you want me to look before?”

She stared at him, reading him, formulating her answer. “No, because you weren’t ready before. It would’ve been a disaster.”

“And now?”

“Not a disaster,” she said. “Not even close.”

“Damn straight,” he agreed. “Leather, really?”

“Maybe a pair of assless chaps,” she said lasciviously.

“When you’re my Domme,” he countered, watching her reaction closely.

Something flickered in her eyes before she dropped them to the platter. She scooped up two pieces of sushi and fed one to him before placing the other in her mouth, ending the discussion.

He chewed ruminatively. _She didn’t protest_ , he observed. _She never says no_. He tucked the thought away for further consideration.

After they finished off the food – Pepper’s appetite less voracious than usual when presented with sushi – Tony told her to stand.

She did, her legs less steady then he’d ever seen them.

“Let’s get you out of this,” he murmured. He stripped the dress from her, then grabbed out the EMT scissors he’d secreted at the edge of the pillows. She watched as he carefully cut the ties away from her. His fingers traced the faint marks that remained; her fingers tensed against the outside of her thighs.

“Okay,” he said suddenly, stepping away from her. “I’m leaving you to clean off the table and then off to bed with you. Do not touch yourself. I’ll see you in my bedroom at nine sharp. Make sure to eat breakfast – there’s fruit in the fridge.”

“Master?” she asked, definitely questioning and confused, her tone just shy of insolent.

“It’s not always about sex, little one,” he reminded her, staring over her shoulder at the sky because if he looked at her – if he looked at her luminous eyes, her trembling body, the faint marks that made her his, he’d press her down into the pillows. He had a plan and he’d execute it and she’d love it.

He spun on his heel and marched resolutely into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know next to nothing about Shibari, therefore, my (and by extension, Tony’s) form is decidedly nontraditional. I used information from The Loving Dominant by John and Libby Warren and a website that no longer exists to write this chapter. Please refer to the book - or any reputable source - if you’d like to know more about the actual practice.
> 
> I don’t know if jute rope can be dyed or not – but Tony wanted colored rope, so colored rope I gave him. 
> 
> My descriptions of the tying are literary, not instructional, in nature; please don’t try this at home without study, practice and a good exit strategy in place.
> 
> Finally, I am a New England girl. Sushi Oaks is a real sushi restaurant in Newbury Park, CA which, Google assured me, six years ago, is near Malibu. I have no idea if it is still open, if it is really near Malibu, or if the food is good so please don’t blame me if you go there and it's closed or if the food sucks.


	16. Master and little one roleplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter depicts a roleplay of mildly non-consensual anal sex. 
> 
> It is also stupid long (4K words). Sorry.

It wasn’t his fault, really. He’d planned assiduously, taking into account practically everything except for Pepper and how he’d respond to her as she stood framed in his doorway, wearing the new nightgown he’d bought for her. It was white and completely sheer and, per his orders, _she wasn’t wearing any underwear_.

How was he supposed to keep his head when confronted with stimuli like _that_?

He knew she’d look good in the lingerie – had been so focused on picturing her in it that he’d been able to ignore the hot little clerk giving him eyes and touching his arm in way that, before Afghanistan, would’ve led to a sweaty fumble against the wall of a changing room.

He’d been right, of course, Pepper in that nightgown was exquisite – and that was the problem.

He’d jacked himself off twice during the course of the night, his head filled with images of rope the color of the sky pressing against Pepper’s pale skin, but it didn’t seem to matter, not with her somehow managing to look innocent and untouched, elegant and beautiful – another creature entirely from the one he’d bound so prettily the night before.

The dichotomy of it all, the memories of flesh and rope and the reality of the goddess with flushed skin standing ten feet away led to a necessary alteration of plans because of the simple fact that, within moments of her arrival, he was hard again, wanting her again – wanting her _still_.

If he was going to succeed in what he had planned for the scene, he needed to calm himself the fuck down.

“Hi there, little one,” he said cheerfully as he pushed the restraints – handmade out of lengths of the _Shibari_ rope attached to loops of buckled leather he’d scavenged from the toys she’d ordered - out of the way and moving the foam wedge pillow around so the incline was facing away from the head of the bed and he could lay back against it, nonchalantly - as if that had been his plan all along. “How are you this morning?”

“Good, Master,” she said, even though he knew she wasn’t, truly – she was bow-tight, even more on edge than he was; he could see how badly she was trembling even from across the room.

“Come here,” he instructed, patting the tops of his thighs. She crossed the room in great strides and was pressing herself to him in seconds. He guided her to kneel above him, right where he was hard and leaking and _ready_.

“I touched myself last night, thinking of you in those ropes,” he said conversationally, his voice as low and filthy a slide as his fingers were, checking her – making sure she was as wet as he needed her to be. “And this morning thinking of what I’m going to do to you today.” He stilled his fingers; she bit her lip. He looked at her, his expression firm. “But you didn’t touch yourself, did you?”

“No. You told me I couldn’t,” she pointed out, her voice trembling appreciably.

“Such a good little thing,” he said soothingly, sliding her slickness across the hot skin between her legs. “You please me so much.”

“I want to,” she said on a whimper. “I want to please you.”

“Mmmm. You need me, don’t you?” he asked, fingers dipping deeper into her.

“Please, Master,” she said, unnecessarily; her body was providing all the answers he needed.

“I do need you to be relaxed enough for me to do what I want to you,” he said, pushing his free hand under silky fabric so he could maneuver his palm across the tight, round muscles of her ass suggestively.

She murmured incoherently and pushed herself down into his fingers and back into his palm incoherently.

“Seeing as how you’d goddamn well explode before I got one finger in your tight hole,” he observed impassively - as if he didn’t need it as much as she did - “I’m going to let you come now, but you’ll need to do the work.”

She keened out his name, his weekend name, his _fucking_ weekend name, and he removed his hands from her body and brought them up behind his head; his back was at an odd angle against the pillow and it wasn't exactly comfortable, but then she was pressing that incredible heat down onto him and he _didn’t care_.

She stopped at the bottom of the down stroke, her eyes flickering to the restraints at the head of the bed, something like regret in her eyes.

“Look at me, little one,” he said firmly. “Don’t worry about anything else. We’ll get to those, I _promise_. Now you need to start damn well _moving_.”

An unholy gleam lit in her eyes and she tightened her internal muscles around him, he let loose with an uncontrolled groan, then she slid up – gracefully – and slammed back down again. His muscles began to melt and she rode him hard, further proof that she would be able to dominate the hell out of him and make him love every fucking second of it.

They were both too close, too wound up, for it to last long. In something like two minutes he was grunting and she was groaning and their bodies were moving together in graceless, bruising movements; he watched, fascinated as she flicked her clit once and drove them both to climax.

When Tony regained his senses he had a limp, sweaty, heaving-chested Pepper on top of him and his fingers, possessed of independent thought, were drawing circles against the skin of her shoulders.

“Good morning,” he said, his breath fanning out across her cheek. She twitched a little and made a little noise that was nowhere near words.

He eased her off of him and tried again. “ _Good morning, little one_.”

She opened her eyes and licked her lips with just the point of her pink tongue, then smiled, “Good morning, indeed, Master.”

 _Holy fucking Je-_.

“Stop it,” he said. “Behave.”

She blinked innocently. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Oh she knew, she _damn well knew_ what she was doing to him. It was time to get back in control.

“You’re going to need to move for me,” he said briskly, rolling away from her warm and fragrant body; once he was able to breathe something that wasn’t essence of Pepper his head cleared a little. He flipped moved the pillow again and rearranged the restraints. Her eyes widened and a smile began to spread across her face.

“Nightgown off,” he directed as he knelt beside the pillow and patted it. “And then get up here for me.”

Positioning her so she was comfortable took far longer than the website had indicated it would (“Your favorite positions are suddenly possible. Just lie on this pillow and find new limits of pleasure!”). There was wriggling and shifting and she made faces quite different than the ecstatic expressions the models had worn – in the middle of it Tony decided to leave the ordering of sex-related paraphernalia to Pepper and Jarvis - but eventually she was positioned with her ass raised, her torso pitched gently downwards and her arms stretched out; he quickly tethered her wrists with the bonds she’d been so fixated on.

It seemed like an awful lot of trouble for something he wasn’t even convinced he’d enjoy – anal wasn’t really his thing, he’d tried it a few times and found it to be disappointing; give him an orifice that didn’t need much in the way of preparation or props any day - but Pepper seemed to want it and he wanted to give her what she wanted. Always.

He took a deep breath and readied himself to _just get on with it_ when she pulled slightly on the ropes and shifted her ass and fucking _whimpered_. Suddenly, the whole scene became infinitely more appealing.

“My little one wants this, doesn’t she?” he purred, nipping at her ear, sliding a palm across the globes of her ass.

In response, she closed her legs, slowly, deliberately.

He stared at her. Had he been completely mistaken about her desire for this act? Had he just wasted five minutes of a Sunday morning molding her body into a position he thought would heighten her enjoyment and pleasure of anal sex when she wasn’t interested in anal sex? Had he wasted the inordinate amount of time he’d spent researching how best to do this for her – research that had been performed with You hovering nearby; _disconcertingly hovering_ – when Pepper didn’t want it in the first place? Had he ordered a freaking pillow to aid in the heightening of anal sex when…sometimes being a Master was more trouble than it was worth.

Then he realized that her eyes were sparkling and there was a small smile on her face and, in case he was still confused, she wiggled her butt, just a little.

The pieces fell into their slots with clunks.

Roleplays had been on her list of interests. She liked being ordered and taken.

Pepper _really_ wanted to play.

He’d never forced a woman in his life – had never needed to, but the thought of playing that scenario out with Pepper fired a dark corner his brain he’d never been aware of. She was willing, of course, her eyes were shining and she hadn’t safeworded – but they could _pretend_.

“Little one,” he said gruffly. “Are you denying me what I want?”

“I don’t _want_ you to do that to me,” she said petulantly.

“Who’s the Master here?” he asked, trying to slide a hand between her thighs; she tightened the muscles.

“You are,” she answered, coming perilously close to whining, “But I don’t like it.”

“It’s not really about what you like and want,” he pointed out. “You’re here for _my_ pleasure, not your own.”

“You can’t _make me_ ,” she shot back.

That deep recess of his brain lit up even more; he brought his lips to her ear and whispered, darkly, “Oh yes, I can, sweetheart. I can and I _will_.”

She moaned, long and loud and undulated against the pillow while shaking her head emphatically. _No_.

“I know you want it,” he continued. “And I’m going to prove it to you.”

He rolled off the bed and she craned her head as much as she could, trying to watch him. He strode into the closet and pulled out the spreader bar – _for when I am very naughty and won’t open my legs for you_ \- and returned to the bedroom, placing it beside her – right in her line of sight. “If you want to be difficult, I can be difficult, too.”

Her eyes lit up but she crossed her ankles tightly.

“You want to do this the hard way?”

“I don’t want to do it at all,” she lied.

“Too bad,” he said, kissing her ruthlessly until she was moaning in his mouth and her legs fell open slightly. The next few moments were spent pushing and molding her into the straps of the spreader. She fought a little, but mainly she was helping, pushing her ankles against the leather and nodding when he buckled the straps.

They were both panting when the exercise was completed. Tony ran a trembling hand down the length of her spine and between the cheeks of her ass; she moaned as his fingers skimmed her anus.

“See, little one,” he said. “I knew you’d like it.”

“It’s disgusting,” she spit out.

He shook his head. “Oh, sweetheart, you are going to be singing such a different tune when I’m done with you.” He got off the bed again and returned to the toy drawer.

Her eyes widened when she saw the feather in his hand and she began squirming against the restraints.

Tony merely smiled and lay on his side beside her so he could look at her face, kiss her when he felt like it, hear her little sounds of pleasure. He started the caresses at her ear, running the tip of the feather along the hard curve of cartilage and then behind, following the long line of muscle as it flowed into her neck. He paused and kissed her, gently, and she leaned into his mouth as much as she could with her limited range of motion.

"Told you you’d like it," he chuckled.

"My ears are not my ass," she pointed out reasonably.

"Point taken," he said cheerfully, "But you’re going to love that, too. You’re going to come hard and beg me to do it to you again and again."

She took a deep shaky breath and then another, her fingers tight around the straps, then said, "I doubt that very much."

Tony raised an eyebrow and skimmed the feather down her spine and between the cheeks of her butt, circling and swirling; she shuddered, her eyes falling closed.

"Told you so, sweetheart."

Her eyes popped open and she wrinkled her nose at him.

"So adorable," he murmured, continuing his ministrations with the feather; she stared at him, mouth open, and her pupils _huge_ – the sky-blue merely a very thin band around the ebony.

"So you hate this?" he asked, teasing with both words and feather.

She closed her eyes tightly and turned her face from him. "It’s wrong."

"No, sweetheart, it’s very, very right," he murmured, nipping her ear and sliding down the length of her body. Up on one elbow he could see the effect of the feather, the gentle opening and closing of her anus, the quivering of her flesh. It was more erotic than he’d thought it would be, definitely more arousing than he’d expected. He was hard and needy.

 _Again_.

He tossed the feather to the floor and reached for the lube he’d left on the bedside table.

"What are you doing with _that_?" she demanded, her eyes jarred open by his movements.

"Preparing you for my cock," he responded brightly. "I told you I was going to take your ass and I always do what I say I’m going to do."

"Pervert," she said, the conviction of her tone entirely undermined by the fact that she was pushing her hips up towards him.

It was damn sexy.

He stopped slicking his fingers long enough to lean close to her face again. "I want to make this so very, very good for you," he whispered, his breath brushing against her ear intimately. "I _will_ make this good for you, little one."

Then he sat up and slid his index finger inside of her tightness and stilled as she panted and writhed at the intrusion; nothing in her response bespoke of discomfort or pain. He slid in further, slowly, inexorably, until the root of his finger was flush with the puckered opening.

She arched back, towards the finger.

"For someone who protested the idea of this, you seem to be hungry for it," he observed, grinning as he added another finger.

"I don’t want to like it," she said on a moan.

"But yet you do," he added, moving his fingers in widening circles.

"I do. Please. _More_."

Tony stopped his movements. "Say that again."

"For God’s sake, _more_ , Master. I want it. Please."

He hadn’t been prepared for how arousing it was to hear her beg.

"You’ll get more when I give it to you," he growled, wanting to hear her pleading with him again, determined to pull it out of her, the dark part of his brain lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.

He dipped his head so he could nip at the inside of her thighs while his fingers continued preparing her for him. Other Tony was much bigger than his fingers and he didn’t want to hurt her – and not just because he knew she’d emasculate him if he did.

She was keening in earnest, pleading inelegantly, almost demanding.

He slid his fingers from her body and wiped them on the sheets, tore open a condom – one that was slippery with lubrication both inside and out - and unrolled it over himself.

"Ready, sweetheart?"

She nodded.

"Say it," he prompted, brushing the head of his cock against her opening. "Tell me you _want_ this."

"I do," she said, her words slurring together, "Fuck my ass _now_."

"So demanding," he chuckled then started the slow, dirty slide inside – he was excruciatingly careful, taking his time to breach the tight ring of muscle. She was still beneath him, her hands convulsing against the sheets, her left cheek pressed into the mattress, her breath coming in small little moans.

It felt different than her pussy – definitely hotter, tighter, but not as smooth, almost gritty - but not in a bad way. He was suddenly very thankful for the condom – the thought of all that sensation on his bare skin was maddening – he wouldn’t have lasted ten seconds.

Pepper was writhing beneath him, her body moving sinuously, driving him deeper – driving her further onto his cock.

He was going to come way too soon if she didn’t stop moving instantly.

"Little one, a minute," he demanded, stilling her hips with strong hands.

"I need you to move," she said quietly.

"And I need you to stay still," he retorted, "And as I’m the Master, what. I. Say. Goes."

She nodded, her hair tangling against the satin sheets as she moved her head.

He leaned forward, pressing the length of his torso against her back and whispered, darkly, "I’m going to fuck you now. Hang on and enjoy the ride." Then he reared back and began a slow, deep rhythm that had him seeing stars and had her crying out.

"Again," she whimpered. "Please, Master. More. Again."

He drew back and slammed forward, watching in fascination at the way her back arched and rippled as a result. Then she was beyond words, and the sounds she was making became incoherent, formless syllables that clearly begged for immediate satiation.

This was yet another Pepper – not the cool collected woman he’d known for a decade – not the willing submissive – not the woman who returned his attentions with abandon – this was a wild, wanton, mewling creature, ensnared by the sensations he was creating for her.

"God," he was able to say. " _Sonofabitch_." She clenched around him.

He was close, incredibly close – but he wanted, needed, had to have her come first.

He slowed his thrusts, leaned down, whispered into her ear, "You’re going to come screaming for me, aren’t you sweetheart?"

She bucked back and began to keen, the headboard creaking as she pulled the ropes taut. He drew back and rode her hard, driving deep and fast, his fingertips finding her clit and pushing her into that screaming climax – driving himself into his own.

He was insensible for a long while, his brain pushed to the limits of pleasure. Returning to his bedroom, to his body, was startling – things were still too bright, too clear. And Pepper was still beneath him, her body arched over the pillow, her hands still bound, her breathing _off_ somehow.

"Sweetheart? Are you okay?" He withdrew from her body gently and rolled away, unbuckling the straps and pulling her off the pillow. "Talk to me, little one."

She opened her glassy, unfocused eyes and smiled dreamily at him. "’S good," she slurred.

His heart hammered harder – the remnants of the orgasm sliding inevitably into panic. If he’d hurt her….

"You’re freaking me out a little, honey. I need you to talk to me. Give me a word, little one."

She frowned slightly, clarity returning slowly to her eyes. "Hot rod," she managed.

Hot rod was good, hot rod meant she was okay and that he had not, literally, fucked her brains out.

"Don’t _do_ that again," he chided her gently.

"Headspace," she murmured, her eyes slipping closed. "Subby."

He racked his brain – fogged as it was by the after-effects of an incredible climax followed almost immediately by a minor panic attack – until he accessed the relevant data: scenes were _supposed_ to release endorphins and lead to a trance-like state.

It scared the shit out of him.

"You’re going to be okay, little one," he said, fighting every instinct to gather her into his arms and call her Pepper or Potts or Virginia or _anything_ that would recall her from wherever she was floating. "Come back to me, okay?"

She frowned again, her eyes still closed. "I’m here, Master," she said softly.

"Okay, then, open your eyes, okay? Let me see ‘em."

She did as he demanded; he was relieved to see _Pepper_ there again – strong and clear even though the residual glassiness.

She sighed, a soft, soul-deep sound; her hand reached for his hair but never made it. She stilled the motion before she made contact.

"It’s okay," he soothed, completing the arrested movement for her. Her fingers combed through his sweat-damp hair and dug soothingly into his scalp. He closed his eyes and leaned into the contact, sighing a little before he could stop himself.

She slid herself a little closer to him.

"Thank you, Master."

He popped open his eyes. "You’re welcome. Very welcome. You kind of threw me there for a minute, but…," he shook his head. "You’re incredible. I don’t think I tell you that enough."

She blushed. "You tell me that all the time."

"Still not enough," he said decidedly. Her fingers tangled gently in his sweaty curls and pulled – it was a pleasurable pain and he sighed again.

"Jarvis wake up - I need you to fill and start the Jacuzzi tub in my bathroom."

Pepper smiled widely; Tony preened a bit – he liked when he could surprise her with his thoughtfulness.

"Certainly, Sir," the AI said, his voice filling the room. "Hello, Miss, I trust that you are doing well – I did detect readings consis-."

"She’s fine, Jarvis," Tony said, staring into her eyes, reassuring himself that it was true.

Pepper giggled and scratched her nails lightly against Tony’s scalp; he moaned gently. "I’m doing extremely well, Jarvis, thanks for asking."

"I do miss talking with you on the weekends," the AI said mournfully, "Things have been rather boring here lately. Mr. Stark is wholly absorbed in research of a dubious nat-.

"Stop flirting, Jarvis," Tony interrupted. "Go back to sleep and I promise to dream up some renders and gigabytes of calculations for you to work on."

"That would be _lovely_ , Sir," the AI replied, his tone making it clear he was much maligned, then beeped sharply.

"This has been a difficult transition for him," Pepper pointed out.

"He’s a _computer_ ," Tony reminded her, pulling at her hands and getting her off the bed, leading her carefully into the bathroom where the Jacuzzi tub waited, almost full and bubbling madly; Tony once again congratulated himself on the upgrades he’d made to it: zero to bliss in sixty seconds.

"One that you programmed," she pointed out as he helped ease her into the tub; she winced slightly as the hot water met sore and well-used areas.

"You okay, little one?" he asked, turning off the taps and sliding in behind her.

"I haven’t used certain muscles in a while," she said, moaning happily as his fingers began to dig into the muscles of her shoulders. "It’s been quite an intense weekend."

"One that sent you into subspace," he prompted.

"Mmhmm."

"I don't like it."

She turned to look at him over her shoulder. "I’m sorry. There’s no way to prepare you for it – but now you know that I’m fine – more than fine." She tipped her head so she could kiss his chin. "You did very, very good, Master."

"So where does this weekend rank, little one? Number one? It’s number one, right?"

She laughed. "Number three."

"Number three? Number three?" Anger towards whoever held number one swamped him. "What happened during number one and two?" He was going to take that number one spot, no matter what.

"It’s not a competition," she said.

The hell it wasn’t.

"I know that," he dissembled. "But I just want to know."

"So curious," she said, crinkling her nose and pecking his lips again. "Fine, our first weekend is ranked second."

He blinked at her, torn between demanding to know more about number one and wanting to hear more about why she liked their first weekend so much; she, as was her wont, made the decision for him.

"It’d been a long time since I was in an actual relationship and it was," she took a deep breath and shifted slightly, gaining a better vantage point, "Nice to be in one again – amazing to be in one with _you_. Like I’ve told you, you’re changing every day and I’m happy to be on this side of the changes – not on the outside looking in. That first weekend was about you and me and it was very, _very_ good."

" _Yeah_ it was."

Her eyebrows drew together and she tensed against him, sighing slightly. It was a sigh that told him he was being particularly dense, though he couldn’t quite figure out why or how; she’d told him she enjoyed their first weekend as Dom and sub and he agreed with her because, _damn_ , and she was tense about it.

He didn't get it at _all_.

"Anyway," she continued, moving again, leaning her back against his chest again, "Before you ask, I’m reserving the number one slot."

"For what?" It was an easy question, one not fraught with subtext she wanted him to somehow intuit.

She skimmed her hands across the surface of the water, pushing against the shimmering, vibrating bubbles. "I’m not sure yet, but I’ll know it when it happens."

"And you’ll tell me?"

"If you’re around."

"Hey!" he exclaimed, determined to be playful even with his heart seizing with panic at the thought of _not being there_.

"Yes, I’ll tell you, Master," she said, grinning, relaxed again.

He leaned back, enjoying Pepper’s weight on him, the bubbles cascading around him and the assurance that, once again, he’d bested her former, faceless Masters.

 _Number two and number three_ , he thought triumphantly, _and I have her. I win_.


	17. Pepper agrees to become a Domme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally stole the "Hammer is a tool" line from Iron Man 2. Please don’t anyone sue me.

"R&D needs your revisions to the specs for the Stark RX80 by the end of the week," Pepper said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she peered down at her to-do list; the movement rolled her hips and Tony stared at her in open admiration. "Stop ogling me," she prompted before continuing with the previous line of discussion, "If you’re determined to start building cars…."

"Smart, eco-friendly cars," he countered, "And I can’t help ogling you. You are completely ogle-worthy."

"Thank you," she said, locating a chair and settling herself in it primly; Tony didn't have the heart to tell her it was _not_ to stop the ogling. 

"Tony, if you want to build cars of any kind, could you please work with the people who are going to execute your designs?" She was still talking. 

"That’s not going to work," he pointed out, ignoring the boring work talk to focus on much more important matters. "I can see your knees now and you have sexy knees."

She cast a fulminating glare at him.

"You’d think you’d be happy I find you so hot," he pointed out.

"Not today," she said, waving a sheaf of papers at him. "We have eighty-five things to get through before I get coffee."

"I’m on it," he said, snapping his fingers loudly. "Jarvis, show Miss Potts the RX80 specs, please."

One wall of the workshop erupted in intricate schematics; Pepper stared down the blueprints. "I’ll take your word that they’re done;" Tony made an indignant noise which Pepper ignored. "Jarvis, send those over to SI, please."

"They are complete, Miss Potts," Jarvis interjected. "I checked them myself."

"I programmed you," Tony reminded the AI. "Make yourself scarce. Potts and I have important business to attend to."

"You often do, Sir," the AI retorted dryly.

"I do! I help Pepper run a multi-national industrial juggernaut."

"I am very aware, Sir," Jarvis said soothingly. 

"And yet you mock me." 

Pepper shook her head. "Really? You fight with Jarvis?"

"Only when he starts it."

"Which I never do, Miss Potts," Jarvis said quickly.

_He picks on me_ , Tony mouthed. 

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose, breathed in and out deeply five times – he counted – and said, "Thank you, Jarvis. I'm sorry that your creator gives you such trouble." She smiled at the ceiling.

Tony's "hey" competed with Jarvis's, "I appreciate your understanding, Miss Potts."

Pepper swung her gaze back to the human. "Tony, the Senate Armed Services Committee wants the final report on the Guatemala mission by the thirtieth. I’ve transcribed your dictation and sent it to you for review and I don’t ever, ever want to have to write something like that again. You could’ve _died_ , Tony."

"But I didn’t," he pointed out.

She sniffed derisively. "Also, please do not make any unnecessary and inappropriate edits to the report…."

"Like what?" he demanded; he started to twirl a screwdriver in his fingers.

She looked up at him "For example, inane and juvenile comments about the size of Senator Stern’s genitals or buttocks."

"But his ass is huge and his dick is small and I want you to say ‘genitals or buttocks’ again."

"Buttocks," she said crisply, then smiled. "The French have finally decided to allow you to build your skylight…"

"Portal. And you have a nice one, you know. World-class, in fact."

"A world-class portal?" she smirked.

"I meant your ass, but come to think of it, your portal is pretty fantastic, too."

She made a sound, one both pleased and infuriated, deep in the back of her throat; _God_ he loved flirting with her on a workday.

" _Anyway_ , I’ve sent cigars to the officious official who approved the plans, and a promise to President Sarkozy and Prime Minister Fillon that Iron Man will _never_ use the Eiffel Tower as a landing pad again.

"The new insurance paperwork has been prepared, we need to review it later, and I want to make over one of the empty rooms into a dedicated play space for us. Your new headshots are in – most of them make you look smarmy, but I was able to-."

"Stop. Back up," he said, his brain finally catching up with her flood of words.

"Maybe smarmy is too strong a word."

"No. Play space. That one. I want to hear more about that."

She cleared her throat and shifted again; he realized with a start that she was nervous. Pepper never got nervous – she was unfailingly calm, even and collected; it was an interesting development.

He waved his hand in a "go on" motion.

She dropped her eyes to the papers in her hand. "Things are going well between us."

"Very."

Her lips turned up even as her eyes stayed down. "And I thought I could convert one of the unused rooms into a playroom." She glanced up. "It would look like a regular bedroom but there would be storage for the equipment and places to experiment with different types of bondage. No one would be able to tell what it was really used for." She tipped her chin up and waited.

Tony continued to twirl the screwdriver as the full impact of what Pepper was suggesting hit him: she intended for this to be a long-term arrangement between the two of them and he wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about that. Yes, the playing was fun and they were involved and he sure as hell didn’t want her with anyone else, but….

"Would it be permanent?"

"Nothing’s _permanent_ , Tony. It would be a playroom for your use with whoever you want to use it with." Her tone was brittle and there was dullness to her eyes.

"You," he said hastily; no matter how intimidating the thought of a long-term thing with Pepper was, the thought of exploring play with anyone else was unthinkable. "Only you. You know that."

Her smile was blindingly relieved, but he was still not sure - he still had questions. A question. "How long do these kinds of contracts usually go on?"

She exhaled sharply and the papers crinkled in her grip, her smile melting like ice in the sun; when she spoke, however, she was as unfazed as ever. "It depends on the people involved in them." Her wording was deliberate and he knew it. "Hours, days, weeks, months, years - however long the parties involved wish for them to be – however long they need them to be." She bit her lip, "Tony, I’m not trying to push you into something you don’t want."

"Wait," he said, poking the screwdriver towards her. "Give me a minute, okay?"

She subsided instantly and stared at him, trepidation arcing off her.

She wanted to create something for them in his house, a place that was both of theirs, something between the two of them, something no one else would know about or share in. They’d made it through a decade and through three months and he was... _happy_ – happy with her, satisfied with her, interested in only her.

There was no one else. He didn’t want anyone else. Couldn’t see himself with anyone else.

He ran the thought through his mind a few more times - they were involved, they were exclusive, they were long-term – and there was no hesitation, no fear, nothing but tenderness and contentment and he liked how that felt. So that was that. He didn’t need to think about it anymore – he could use his brain power to half-listen to Pepper course through her to-do list and the other half to create a vivid image of her in their playroom.

It - _all of it_ \- worked for him.

"Do it. We want it. We need it. Make it happen," he said decisively.

She didn’t question the ‘we,’ just smiled happily. "Give me two weeks. Now, Justin Hammer has been badmouthing you in _Rolling Stone_."

"I read it," he said promptly. She would be dressed in a black leather bra that tied in front and black panties that laced up the sides and garters and standing in the middle of _their room_.

"What a surprise," she said wryly. "And the spreadsheets I sent you yesterday?"

"Not interested," he said, his rote answer whenever he heard the word "spreadsheets." The Pepper in his head was suddenly towering over him as he sprawled back on the bed.

"Maybe if I put pictures of half-naked women draped over rock stars on them."

That got his attention. He raised an eyebrow. "Make it pictures of you half-naked and draped over the cars…or my couch…or me…or the su-."

"I get it," she said peevishly, but she was still smiling; he liked it when he made her smile like that - it made him feel accomplished.

"As to Justin Hammer, _some people_ at SI want us to release a rebuttal cautioning those who would jump on the anti-Stark bandwagon that the company is stronger than ever and that it has a very long memory." Her tone was dark and it was clear that she thought that those people were idiots.

The darkness of her tone, the _firmness_ of it, started to heat his blood. Suddenly his fantasy Pepper was standing over him with a riding crop in one hand and his balls in the other….

"I think that it would bring us down to his level and I’ve cautioned against it." She was still speaking about mundane, everyday matters. "You have the final say, " she stared at him evenly, " but I would recommend that you follow my lead in this."

"You wouldn’t hit me with the crop," he blurted out, as if she was privy to the vivid images in his head. "It would just be for caressing body parts."

She blinked dumbly at him. " _What_?"

"Light erotic spanking is good, but no beatings with implements." The image was growing clearer as the thought of her dominating him increased irresistibly.

She sucked in a breath. "Tony, have you suddenly developed Tourette's Syndrome?"

"No. I was thinking that you’d make an excellent Domme." He’d thought about it before. A lot. If she got the playroom, he figured it was only fair that he should get Mistress Pepper.

She snorted and continued, "Claire’s sent over a preliminary draft of the release and I promised her that I’d make you look at it and get your opinion."

"My opinion is that you’d be fantastic."

"About the press release."

"Hammer is a tool," he said, waving the screwdriver dismissively, "A little man trying to play with the big boys. You’re right, as usual, Potts. Someone else will come to my defense and we won’t have to get involved.

"I want to talk about switching," he pressed. "What do you say? Wanna rock my world the way I’ve been rocking yours the last few months? And before you answer, please remember that I just told you that light, erotic spankings are one of my interests."

She made a noncommittal noise and looked helplessly at her pile of paperwork.

He stood up and moved his chair over to where she was sitting, spinning it as he went, straddling it when he stopped it inches away from her toes, resting his arms against the back and staring at her.

"I think it would be good," he said.

She raised a single eyebrow.

"Very good."

She chuckled slightly, then sobered. "I’m a sub, Tony – that’s what I’ve always been. I’m not sure I’d be good at the other side of things."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "‘I would recommend that you follow my lead in this,’" he quoted.

"You do listen to me," she said, voice full of wonder.

"Mostly," he said, "Especially when you speak in that tone of voice and get all bossy. You’re damn hot when you get commanding."

"Being a Domme isn’t about bossiness," she pointed out.

"No, it’s about taking care of another person’s needs, which you do, and being in control of yourself, which you are, and exploring another side of your sexuality, which I think you should."

"And why do you think I should?" she asked.

He leaned closer and he could smell her under the light scent of her body wash, the watermelon of her hair products; the sweet, cloying scent of arousal. He knew if he slid his fingers between her legs she’d be wet. "Because the thought of having me at your mercy is making you hot," he said, his voice sultry.

"Oh, Tony," she said, sighing, the sound heavy with disappointment.

"Okay, maybe that’s reason number four," he conceded, leaning back – determined not to fuck this up. He had given the matter a great deal of thought and if the whole _you know you want me, so take me, I’m yours_ argument wasn’t going to work, he had back-up talking points.

"First, as much as you like not having to think from time-to-time, you are a brilliant, proactive person and I think that you’d enjoy bringing that aspect of your personality into our sex life. I really believe you’d enjoy creating the scenes and leading me through them – pushing our limits."

She raised a quizzical eyebrow but stayed silent.

"Second," he held up two fingers and she wrinkled her nose at him, "If this involvement is not just about sex but also about personality growth, then don’t you think you should have the chance to learn about how being the one ostensibly in charge really means being the one who allows the other person – me – to learn how much power there is in truly submitting to someone else’s authority?"

She huffed out a breath and swallowed heavily.

"Third, I’d like the opportunity to just give myself over to you once in a while – not have to be the Master – just lie back and do what I’m told.

"Fourth, and just like the third reason was all about me, the fourth one is all about you, you are intrigued with the thought of being my Mistress."

She smiled, a genuine smile, and said, "You’ve come a long way, Stark."

"Thanks. What do you mean?"

"When we first started this…."

"Involvement."

"Involvement," she repeated, drawing the word out in the way she tended to, "You were fixated on getting to have sex with me."

He shrugged; there was no use in denying it.

"And now you really, truly realize what this all means."

"I’ve changed," he pointed out. "You said it yourself."

"You’re really hard to say no to, you know," she sighed.

"You say no to me all the time!" he protested vehemently. "No to a secret lair, no to buying an island, no to having sex with me on a Wednesday."

"But it’s really hard," she pointed out. "Except the sex on a Wednesday thing. That’s easy."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

She crossed and re-crossed her legs. "You’re right about all of it," she said, "Except for the part about me wanting to be your Mistress."

"That was kind of the point of the whole discussion, Pep," he said, completely confused by her reasoning.

"If you call me Mistress, I’ll…I’m not sure what I’d do, but I’ll come up with something heinous."

He grinned, "Something that involves spanking of the light and erotic variety?"

She laughed. "No, you’d enjoy it too much."

"If I’m not going to call you Mistress," he said confidently, as if she’d already agreed to be his Domme, "then…."

"Lady Ember," she said quickly. Too quickly. _Suspiciously_ quickly.

"Uhm…."

"Maybe I’ve thought about this, too," she said. "Once or twice. _Anthony_."

Hearing his name fall from her lips like that, heavy and low, made him flush, made him _hard_.

"Okay, then," he said. "See how fast this whole discussion/agreement thing can go? We didn’t need to spend two weeks at the beginning after all."

"Yes, we did," she countered. "We had to lay the groundwork so we could shift things as needed."

"You’re going to dominate the hell out of me, aren’t you?" he asked, playful and intent at the same time.

"And you’re going to really experience the power that comes with completely giving yourself over to someone else," she said, eyes hard and glittering.

"This weekend?"

She pressed her lips together. "Next weekend."

"But that’s my weekend."

"It’s our weekend and we have to go to Tokyo this weekend."

"Cancel it," he said airily. "This is more important."

She shook her head slowly. "I can’t cancel it, Tony. Two weekends a month. That was the deal."

He stared at her calculatingly. He was smart and knew he shouldn’t push for another concession, but he was also greedy and always wanted more.

"Two weekends this month," she said while he was still calculating odds and deciding which tone of voice would be most effective. "Next month we can add another weekend if you want."

He preened, enjoying his victory. It was short-lived.

She cleared her throat ominously. In the second before she spoke, he knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

He was right.

"Did anything happen in Afghanistan?"

He looked at her in stunned incredulity, then motioned to his chest. "Yeah."

She shook her head. "That’s not what I meant. Did _anything_ happen there? With the…."

And he understood. "No. God! No."

She exhaled and nodded. "Good. I’m happy-."

"Me, too!"

"It’s just that you never talk about it and I didn’t want to do anything that could trigger you."

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"You could, you know. Talk about it. With me. Anytime." Pepper was stammering and discomforted.

"I don’t need to," he said airily. "It’s fine, Pep. _I’m_ fine. And I know that I can talk to you – if I needed to talk to anyone I’d talk to _you_ , you know. No one else."

"You would?" she breathed out suddenly, something approaching joy flooding her features.

Tony stared at her. "Of course? Didn’t you know that? How could you not know that?"

"Because you’re _you_ ," she shot back, heat sparking in her eyes. "And you close yourself down behind jokes and banalities." She bit off the last word and closed her eyes, visibly reigning herself in. She opened her eyes, her steady blue gaze meeting his. "I’m sorry. I just want you to know that I’m not just your PA or your lover but I’m your friend and I’m happy to listen to you."

He let her words drift over him. They were lovers and friends. Who would’ve ever seen _that_ coming?

"I know that," he said gently. " _All_ of it. But I don’t need to talk about it. I’m over it. You can do whatever you want to me."

She studied him momentarily, then let the conversation veer where he wanted it to. " _Whatever_ I want?" she parried, her eyes lighting frighteningly.

"I trust you. Intimately." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She raised her eyebrow. " _Anything_ , Tony. That leaves me quite a few possibilities." She took a deep breath. "Seriously, send me your list, okay? Now, can we get through the rest of my to-do list so I can have coffee?"

"I am at your disposal, Miss Potts," he said, stretching immoderately, his mind already drifting towards pleasant fantasies.

She’d be in a red corset and her hair would be a halo around her lovely face….


	18. Lady Ember and Anthony play for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All research on riding crops and Tony’s RT (Repulsor Transmitter) was done at Wikipedia. Let me know if I’ve mucked anything up royally.
> 
> The sports sheets are real and I found them at the sportsheets.com website. They don't seem to make the ones I described in this chapter anymore, but they still have lots of interesting products over there. You know, interesting in the name of SCIENCE.

At noon exactly, Tony padded from Pepper’s room – _the sub bedroom_ , he reminded himself; it was his room for the next twenty-six hours – to his own. As ordered, he was scrubbed clean, hair washed and styled, beard trimmed neatly, and naked.

The bruises had faded minimally, the cuts were scabbed over, the burns were still shiny – but he wasn’t in pain anymore, and he looked a hell of a lot better than he had on Tuesday; it wasn’t quite the look he’d wanted for his first session with Lady Ember – but Iron Man had been needed and Iron Man had gone.

And gotten the shit kicked out of him.

Not that it really mattered. Tony knew he was good-looking ( _really_ good-looking) and fit and, despite the RT in his chest, completely hot. Naked was a good look for him.

He _liked_ being naked. He _really_ liked being naked with someone else. He _adored_ being naked with Pepper. He was pretty sure he was going to _love_ being naked with a dominating Pepper.

His room, when he arrived there, was oddly Pepper-free. The sport sheet was on the bed, a set of anchor pads and cuffs at the upper end. His eyes skittered to the nightstand where two gold-colored balls rested beside - his stomach jumped - lube and anal beads.

_Oh boy_. Obviously, Pepper had taken him at his word when he’d told her to push their limits. It’d taken him weeks to prepare himself to restrain her, longer still to play anally. Lady Ember didn’t seem to need any preparation time. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

His eyes were caught on the toy, tracing its lines with his gaze, when he heard brisk, familiar footsteps in the hallway.

Lady Ember was on her way.

Tony arranged his body in the appropriate pose: standing very straight, head down, arms at his sides.

Insanely high and pointy stilettos and legs encased in black nylon entered his field of vision as Pepper stopped with her toes mere inches away from his. His cock gave a twitch of anticipation.

"Good afternoon, Anthony."

His mouth opened in readiness of responding to the greeting before he remembered his place. He snapped it shut and stayed quiet.

She chuckled softly. "Surprising. I didn’t know that you could actually keep those lovely lips of yours closed."

Blood started to flow south.

He _really_ liked this.

"Please recite our safewords."

He complied, running through them without hesitation; they were a part of him now – as much as his name was – as much as her name was.

"Very good," she purred, then allowed him to do the thing he was longing, aching, fucking _dying_ , to do. "Look at me, Anthony."

He picked his head up and felt every single solitary fluid milliliter of his blood heat to boiling.

Pepper was a vision – an erotic fantasy stepped straight out of a manual on How to Be Arousing: her hair was curly and crackling in a perverse sort of halo, she was wearing a white blouse open to her navel and a tight black skirt, her heels lending her height enough to tower over him…and in her small hands she grasped a riding crop.

He wanted to write fucking _sonnets_ about her – about the corona of red-gold curls and her confounding clothes and the supple leather of the crop and her high, high, _goddamn_ , high heels; they wouldn’t be _good_ sonnets, he admitted to himself, because his brain was slowly leaking out of his cock - but they would be _evocative_.

"If you’re quite done ogling me," she said crisply, the riding crop beating a gentle tattoo against her leg.

_Never_ , he thought. _I’ll never be done looking at you_.

She brought the crop up to his lips and caressed the soft skin with the soft leather; he fought against leaning into the sensation. 

Her eyebrows twitched higher. "What do you like so much about this? Answer me."

"That it can be used to hurt but that you would never do that to me," he said quickly; it was the idea of her control, her _caring_ , that did it to him.

She sighed, a completely Pepper sound – one that denoted affection and exasperation. "No, you do that enough to yourself." She tossed the crop onto the bed and circled him slowly, fingers caressing every one of his war wounds; gentle skin caressing the injuries, bringing tingles of pleasure to skin more used to being cut and burned. By the time she was done with her inventory, he was fully erect and biting back moans. She drew him back against her and settled her chin on his shoulder.

"Anthony, when are you going to learn that this body no longer belongs to only you?" And it was Pepper’s voice, heavy with some emotion, tears, too, perhaps. He could always tell when she broke character – and it always did something odd to him to have Pepper Potts present during playtime. "When are you going to start taking _care_ of it?" she demanded. "Answer me."

"I do try," he pointed out. "They were shooting _missiles_ at me. I avoided most of them." 

She nipped his ear. "Try _harder_. I would be most put out if my favorite pet was no longer available for me to play with."

A host of words, each one dirtier and more vehement than the last, battered against his mouth, determined to be voiced. He gritted his teeth and held them back. He hadn’t been given permission to speak.

She sighed again and kissed the crook of his neck gently, then stepped away from him.

"Lay on the bed and spread your legs for me."

He’d never been so happy to do something Pepper wanted him to do.

Tony positioned himself on the bed, legs spread wide, his eyes fixed on her as she watched him impassively. Her gaze flickered over his body; he tensed his muscles, flexing and preening a bit; his cock bobbed provocatively. She gave him a cool look paired with a single raised eyebrow; she was flushed, though – and he knew that she was enjoying the view as much as he was enjoying providing it for her.

"Are you having a good time?" she asked dryly.

He nodded vigorously.

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, the look designed to intimidate him; it had the exact opposite effect. If she didn’t do _something_ to him and do it fast, he was going to jump her.

"You were right, you know," she said quietly as she began to arrange his legs the way she wanted them, wider, knees bent, heels flat against the sheet; he felt exposed and vulnerable; he kind of liked it. "I do enjoy having you at my mercy." Done, she pulled her skirt to mid-thigh – right above where the, oh sweet Lord, stockings ended – so she could kneel between his legs; she picked up the crop, looking at it meditatively. "And I’d never hurt you." She met his eyes. "Much."

His hands flexed instinctively. He trusted Pepper with his life, his secrets, his body, his _genitals_ ; Lady Ember, however…he’d take her down if she tried to hit him with the crop.

He watched warily as Pepper, eyes cerulean and hard, lowered the leather tongue to his body and began to trace the lines of his shoulders, circled the RT, traced the ropes of muscles stretched across his stomach, stroked his flanks, slid over his hard erection, gently cupped the Stark family jewels.

"You can breathe," she counseled, staring at the journey of the crop as it followed the lean lines of his legs. "I’m _not_ going to hurt you, Anthony. I’d get no pleasure out of it. I can’t stand to see you like…." She stopped and stared at him. "I would never hurt you."

He blew out a breath he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding, then held it again in the next second as she brushed the leather over his anus. His eyes skittered to the bedside table, the innocent bottle of clear lube and the not-innocent toy lying next to it.

Pepper clicked her tongue at him; he met her gaze. "Don’t worry about that Anthony. I’m in charge now and I’ll take very good care of you – much better care than you do yourself."

She always does, he thought in the seconds it took for her to stretch over him, her hand splayed next to his hip, and bring her lips to his, crushing the soft skin, biting her way into his mouth.

He plowed his fingers into her hair. She allowed it for five seconds before pulling away from him and frowning thunderously. "I don’t believe I gave you permission to touch me. Did I give you permission? Answer me, pet." The last sentence was delivered silkily – silkily and rather scarily.

"No, Lady Ember."

"Mmhmm," she hummed. "Keep your hands to yourself." She smiled brightly as if at some joke known only to her. "I’d hate to have to punish you so soon."

He wasn’t so sure _he’d_ hate that, but he did want to please her, so he did as ordered, winding his fingers into the fabric of the sport sheet and watching her as she retrieved the bottle and the beads and sat upright. She squirted the viscous fluid onto her fingers. "You think you know everything about sex, but you’re wrong, Anthony. Your body is capable of so many things and I want to show you."

Her fingers slid between his legs and against his opening; he tensed, squeezing it closed. Anal wasn’t his thing. He’d enjoyed it with her – giving – but he wasn’t so sure about having things stuck inside of him.

"I promised I wouldn’t hurt you and I meant it," she said quietly, retreating a bit to stroke up and down his perineum, her other hand stroking his hip gently. "Do you remember how much I enjoyed it when you took me there?" she asked. "You have a gland that I don’t and that gland is going to make this even better for you than it was for me."

He knew about the prostate - he wasn’t an idiot – but his previous experiences with it had been when he was drunk or in his doctor’s office. Or when he was drunk in his doctor’s office. Not at all hot, and memorable for the wrong reasons.

Her fingers slid back down towards the puckered opening and began to trace lazy circles around and around. He relaxed, breathed out – and then she dropped the tip of her index finger inside and he yelped, "Malibu!"

She instantly took her hands from his body and looked at him anxiously. "Talk to me, Anthony."

"I’m not sure about this."

"What is it? Did I hurt you?"

He paused – it hadn’t hurt. _At all_. It just felt different, foreign – a little too new.

"No."

"Good." She looked relieved and he realized that he’d scared her. He felt bad. He was tough, he was strong, he was a man. He’d done things to her – lots of things – and she’d never balked or flinched.

"Malibu means go slow," he said, finding reserves of courage. Pepper thought this was something he’d enjoy and he wanted to find out if she was right. He just needed some time to get used to the idea.

She smiled brightly, the dark and domineering Lady Ember falling away. "I’ll go slowly and you’ll talk to me. Got it?"

"Yes, ma’am."

She smiled wider at that. "I’m going to put my fingers between your legs again," she said. "You tell me when you’re ready for me to slide inside."

He nodded tightly and breathed deeply, concentrating on the feelings in his body and not the cacophony in his head. Her fingers began their gentle stroking and circling motions – movements mirrored on his left hip.

Thirty seconds later he was ready for a little more sensation. "Okay," he prompted. 

She hummed happily and gently inserted her index finger. He felt his body give, then take her in. She went slowly but inexorably; the fingers on his hips pressed down with greater pressure, anchoring him to her touch, gentling him.

Then she found his prostate and everything went sparkly white and he realized how different this was. This was erotic and arousing – definitely not an exam from a gloved doctor or messy, drunk fingers determined to show Tony Stark something new. This was Pepper pleasuring him in a wholly unexpected way.

"Hot rod," he murmured.

She looked at him. "You’re sure?"

"Fuck, yes."

"Language, pet," she tsked, but gave him another finger, scissoring gently, rubbing that amazing gland.

"Oh, God!"

"Just you wait," she smiled, "You haven’t experienced _anything_ yet." She withdrew her fingers and he held back an unmanly whine at the loss of the contact. "Keep breathing for me," she said. "Holding your breath is not going to make this as comfortable as it can be."

He did as she instructed, breathing as she slid the plastic beads inside of him. He could feel them moving into him – five of them. Only five. Not big at all – smaller than her fingers, even. He could feel them brushing against his prostate and pleasure – sharp-edged and potent – ripped through him. His hips pistoned up, she answered his movement by pressing his hip firmly back to the bed.

"Good now?" she crooned.

He nodded, looking at his cock; it had subsided during the anal invasion, but had started growing again the second she’d found his prostate. It was throbbing and needy, wanting her warmth and tightness. 

She leaned back, removing her hands from his body, contorting herself so she could slip of the shoes and toss them over the side of the bed. He watched their arcs and hoped that this meant she was going to climb on top of him and ride him. Hard.

"You haven’t yet earned the pleasure of my body," she said, seemingly reading his mind, impishly glittering eyes fixed on his face as it fell. "You’re going to use those clever hands of yours to take care of yourself. I want you to come all over your hand for me. I want to see it."

Thunderbolts, lightening strikes, freaking photon torpedoes of sensation shot through his body. Pepper was going to kneel between his legs and watch him jerk off.

From the time his muscles filled out and he went to MIT, he’d never had to masturbate much - touching his cock was what his women were for; in the period between his return and the beginning of his contract with Pepper, he’d been forced to revisit the dubious pleasures of his palm.

The thought of Pepper watching him do it, _really_ watching him - not struggling to focus in the low-light of the workshop while she fought her post-orgasm fugue - leant an immediacy and dirtiness to the whole process that he found vastly appealing.

He grinned cockily and skimmed his right hand down his chest, shifted his legs slightly and began to stroke himself just the way he liked best. Pepper braced her hand on the bed beside his right hip and slid her other hand up to the RT, tapping it gently. She stared at the motions of his hand; he stared at hers as it felt the cover of the RT, slid to touch the skin pressing against the metal, _scrabbled_ at his flesh.

He wound his free hand into the velvety sheet to prevent touching her without permission. Instead, he ran his eyes over her tender ministrations; he couldn’t stop looking at her small hand, the way it caressed the metal and plastic and flesh, her touch gentle and adoring - treating the implant as if it were nothing more than just another part of him.

His hand sped up and hers tightened against skin and metal; he was gasping, she was breathing hard.

Her hand slipped away from the implant, down the length of his torso to cover the hand he was using to pull and tug at his cock. She pushed gently, directing his cock to point towards his stomach, towards his chest. He took her in - the skin exposed by the unbuttoned blouse was pink, the color on her cheeks lovely.

"Finish, Anthony," she commanded. "Finish for me now."

His body obeyed, the climax rushing over him, come spurting onto the heaving muscles of his abs. Then she began to pull out the beads and the climax was no longer rushing, it was slamming into him, sending him higher and faster then he’d ever been.

He was pretty sure he began speaking in tongues and drooled as the top of both of his heads blew off. He floated in space for a good while, enjoying the sparking aftershocks radiating from his groin through his body and out into the wide vastness of space.

When Tony was finally pulled back into his body it was to find his Domme with her skirt hiked up around her thighs and straddling his waist. Her hands were toying with his upper body as if she was unable to stop.

"Holy fuck," he said.

"I told you you’d like it."

"Holy fuck!"

"Mmmhm," she hummed, shifting, sliding her wet skin against his come-covered abs, smudging the evidence of their arousal and passion, so she could guide his arms out horizontally and restrain his wrists and arms with the neoprene cuffs. "If you can’t use that mouth of yours to thank me for giving you the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life, I’m going to find another use for it."

"Tha-," he began.

"Too late," she chirped, a mischievous light in her eyes. She picked up the balls from the bedside stand; they clanked at the movement and he realized they were bells.

"Now," she began, "You aren’t going to be able to speak so if you need to safeword I want you to throw this as hard as you can." She pressed one of the spheres into his hand. "Show me."

He flexed his wrist and released the object; it clanged as it flew through the air and hit the floor.

"Just like that," she instructed, placing the other bell in his hand. He grasped it tightly. "Now, you need to thank me for the pleasure I just gave you." She leaned forward and slid her knees, one at a time, up the length of his torso, stopping with her knees resting in hollows of his armpits.

"You’re good with your hands," she said, peering down at him, "But you’re so much better with your mouth."

He barely had the chance to wiggle his eyebrows at her before she’d gracefully maneuvered herself over his face and lowered her wet skin to his mouth, her skirt dropped around his head and he was in the sultry darkness.

He opened his mouth and fastened it onto her and tasted himself. It was not a taste he was fond of. He grimaced and licked and lapped his way through it until the bitterness gave way to the familiar sweetness of Pepper. Over her cries of pleasure he could hear the headboard creaking. He tightened his grip on the ball and stepped up his efforts, determined to leave her shaking to pieces around him.

When she came, it was with a strangled shout and a flood of sweetness. He worked at cleaning her, wanting every last drop.

"Whoa," she said, sliding to the side. "Slow down there."

He looked askance at her.

"Recovery time isn’t just for men," she pointed out, kissing him, licking at his lips. His hands strained against the cuffs, wanting to grab her head, pull her closer, deeper. Keep her near. The anchors held.

She ended the kiss far too soon for his liking, smiling down into his dazed eyes with a dreamy gaze. "I’m going to let you out of these things and you’re going to keep your hands and," she looked pointedly down the length of his body; the Stark Hot Rod had stirred a bit and was half-hard again, "you’re going to get that under control. With that big brain of yours. _No touching_."

He thought about Happy in a bra and panty set, Rhodey in garters, Senator Stern in…that did it.

Pepper chuckled as she worked at releasing him and rubbing salve into his wrists. "Amazing what that brain of yours can do." He flicked an eyebrow up in agreement.

"We’ll talk about this later. Right now I need a shower and a swim and you need a shower and to go over the pile of paperwork I left downstairs for you."

His mouth fell into a moue of disappointment and horror. She was using her role to make him do _paperwork_. It wasn’t fair.

She slid off the bed and started stripping as she walked towards the bathroom. "Get moving, Anthony. Your outfit for dinner is in the closet in your room." She spun, naked and glorious, outlined in the door of his bathroom. "We leave at five promptly." Then she closed the door behind her. He heard the lock click.

He’d been right about her being an amazing Domme. He _loved_ being right.

"Damn," he muttered to himself, trying to build up the strength to be something more than bonelessly satiated. "Hot fucking damn."


	19. Lady Ember, Anthony, leather pants and a car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: spanking
> 
> The nerve cluster Pepper manipulates really exists - it extends from the tailbone to about nine inches above it; it makes a man feel more swollen during foreplay and can make climaxes more potent. Have fun finding it!
> 
> Much like Lady Ember, I had another plan for this chapter, but ended up being distracted by RDJ’s ass. Yep. This is pretty much a love letter to dat ass. Enjoy!

Tony had had fantasies about leather, all of them involving Pepper dressed in a leather cat suit, using his body as a piece of erotic gymnastic equipment - crawling, sliding, rubbing all over him, the buttery texture of the material and the sensual movements of her lithe body combining to drive him to ecstatic heights.

None of the fantasies involved him wearing leather pants. Tony had worn leather pants. Leather pants were _hot_ \- and not in a good way.

He sighed, blinked and stared at the outfit – black leather pants, a tight gray long-sleeved t, and boots - helpfully bought, assembled and laid out by his Domme.

_Go ahead and safeword_ , the unhelpful voice in his head suggested. _You already did it once today - what’s once more_?

He thought about it briefly before deciding that safewording over clothes would make him look like a wuss and he wasn’t a wuss - he was a freaking superhero, a superhero who had escaped a terrorist stronghold in the desert wearing a metal suit without a coolant system.

Leather pants were child’s play compared to that little experience.

But, actually, they weren’t. It took a generous amount of time - more than the amount he’d allotted to getting dressed - and a truly ridiculous amount of tugging to get them on. Pepper had obviously bought a size smaller than was needed. When he was finished getting dressed he looked at himself in the mirror.

Maybe leather pants were hot in a good way after all.

" _Damn_ ," he said, grinning at his image. "You are one good looking man, Stark." 

"Sir," Jarvis said, low, as if he were whispering. "You asked me to tell you when it was five minutes before five P.M. You’re going to be late to your rendezvous with Miss Potts."

"No, I won’t," Tony said, turning so he could check his ass out. Yep. It was a very fine ass. "I can make it to the workshop in two minutes. I could cut that to twenty seconds if Pepper would let me put a slide to the launch pad in my bedroom."

"Sir," Jarvis said urgently, ignoring the comment about the slide. After all, he’d heard it before.

"I’m going, I’m going," Tony said, glancing at his front - yep, the pants did good things for his package, too.

Jarvis sighed. "I believe I will return to sleep mode. Have a good evening." He didn’t sound as if he was very hopeful about Tony’s prospects.

Tony tugged on the shirt and the boots and looked at himself once more. Twice. Maybe three times.

Between the tight pants and the ogling and the preening, Tony was two and a half minutes late by the time he strode into the workshop, past the powered down ‘bots, past the suits.

Pepper was leaning against the side of the Audi, pissed. He knew the signs, even through the gloom of the cavernous space. As he neared her he was able to see that she was wearing The Green Sweater and tight jeans. She looked spectacular. He sped up, eager to get close to her, to touch her.

"You’re late, Anthony," she said sharply, straightening. "What do you have to say for yourself? Tell me."

"I’m sorry Lady Ember," he said, eating up the space between them with enormous strides, his mind racing, searching for an excuse. _Blame the AI_ , his helpful brain supplied. "Jarv-."

"Don’t care," she interrupted. "Stop." Her tone was like a whip, sharp and quick, lashing out. Tony suddenly realized that he was in very big trouble. His muscles tensed and he skidded to a stop. 

"My, my, my," she muttered, as her hungry gaze strafed him from head to toe then back again. 

She took a step towards him, then paused. "Turn for me, pet."

He did as she asked, feeling graceless as he turned in a slow circle. Models, not modeling, were his thing…had been his thing.

I knew you’d look good in leather," she murmured. 

He met her incendiary gaze and popped a cocky eyebrow; she returned a deprecating one.

"Do that again," she said. "More slowly this time." She clucked her tongue at him and leaned back against the car, obviously enjoying the show. "And pull the shirt up a bit – it’s covering your best assets."

He did as she asked, wondering vaguely as if he should be upset about being treated like a piece of meat before dismissing the notion. After all, he was Tony Stark and he looked damn good in the pants she’d picked out for him and she was Pepper Potts and he was just happy that, after a decade of unshakeable denial and unwavering professionalism, she was finally acknowledging that fact.

She pursed her lips and leaned back against the car. "Turn around and take off your boots, Anthony. _Slowly_."

He remained frozen, unsure if he’d heard correctly.

"You’re already in trouble, don’t make it worse. Take the boots off. And the socks. _Now_." There was a familiar thread of steel in her voice - he usually heard it in conjunction with him getting dressed for a meeting or opening or breakfast; the new circumstances were _interesting_.

Tony obediently turned again, giving her a good view of his ass as he bent over and fumbled with the laces on the boots - he took his time, wiggling and wriggling for her. There was little doubt in his mind that she wasn’t going to be able to resist a ride on the Stark Hot Rod for long - he might as well have some fun in the meantime.

"Damn," she said, then "Goddamn." 

"I love it when you talk dirty," he noted straightening and toeing off one boot then the other.

"When did I give you permission to speak?" she demanded. He could hear her toe start tapping again. "Answer me."

"You didn’t," he realized, turning to look at her. She was flushed and breathing heavily - a mixture of arousal and annoyance on her face.

She sighed, deeply, disappointed; only disappointed; purely disappointed. It was one of Pepper’s uncomplicated sighs.

Surprisingly, Tony felt bad for disappointing her. It was a novel experience. In the past he’d regretted disappointing Pepper for the simple fact that it would make _his_ life incrementally more difficult until she forgave him. Somehow, that had changed - now he regretted disappointing her because he wanted her to be proud of him, impressed with him, _happy_ with him.

"Anthony, come here," she said, pointing imperiously to a spot a half-foot to the left of where she was standing. He shuffled forward, his bare feet dragging on the cement floor. It was smooth and cool beneath his feet. He stopped where she had told him to, his body angled towards her, his head lowered, his hands at his side.

"You’ve had quite the day, Anthony," she said, her hands digging into the fabric of the shirt, twisting at it. "I can easily count three incidents of disobedience today: touching me without permission, arriving late, and speaking without my giving you leave to. What am I going to do with you?" Her hands tightened in the fabric, pulling on it, yanking it upwards. He raised his arms and let her strip the shirt off of him. He felt the brush of it as it fell to his feet.

"What do you think, pet?" She asked, inserting the crook of her index finger under his chin and pushing his face up. He kept his eyes lowered and his mouth shut - he was, after all, a genius. It was time he start acting like one.

"Better," she crooned. "But a little too late. Pick up the shirt."

He hid his frown of confusion and did as she asked, bending at the waist and scooping up the piece of soft cotton she’d just tossed down.

"Look at me," she commanded.

Her gaze was implacable, firm; she didn’t appear to be worried at all about meting out punishment. She tossed her head towards the hood of the car. "You’ll need to bend over for me, Anthony. If you’re careful and use the shirt, the car should be unscathed."

It was clear from her tone that he wouldn’t be quite so lucky. Desire, sharp and heady, spiraled outwards from his stomach.

He positioned the shirt, then himself, being careful to cushion the metal and plastic of the RT so as to not scratch the paint all to hell. Once he was settled, Pepper’s soft, small hand ran the length of his spine, from the base of his skull to where his lumbar curve flowed into the small of his back. Then they went lower, cupping over the curve of his behind.

No one had ever spent as much time looking at and touching and…doing other things to his ass. It was arousing and worrisome in equal measure.

"Do you know how many times I found myself distracted by _this_?" she mused aloud, squeezing gently. "It’s a work of art, sweetheart. A work of art." She sighed. "And now I’m going to have to spank it so you remember who the Domme is - so you remember to listen to me - listen and _obey_. Do you understand, Anthony? Answer me."

"Yes, Lady Ember." Yes, yes, yes. He really hoped she remembered that he was only interested in erotic spanking of the light variety. He didn’t want to be sore for days.

Her hands continued to brush at the curves, cupping and squeezing - feeling him up. His cock began to stir, pressing against the unforgiving tightness of the fabric that contained him, restrained him.

"Back up a little," she prompted, tugging at his hips until he slid far enough back that she could fumble open the snap and the zipper. They both sucked in breaths when her hands encountered his growing hardness, both breathed out unsteadily when her hand pressed against it. He fought the urge to buck and push and move. He didn’t want her more dissatisfied, didn’t want to let her down any more than he already had.

"No underwear?" she asked, her voice rather breathy. "Tell me about that decision, my boy."

"Too hard to put on," he panted, curiously unable to catch his breath. 

She squeezed his cock in response and made a growling noise - both actions only served to make him harder. "Good thing I like that," she said. "Otherwise I would’ve had to punish your for that omission, too."

_Oh God_ , he thought over and over again, not really sure what, exactly, he was praying for.

Pulling the pants down proved to be just as difficult as pulling them up had been. Tony was pretty sure Pepper had stripped off a layer of skin along with the layer of leather - was definitely sure she’d ripped every last hair off of his legs. Then, miraculously, the pants were off and Pepper was pressing his lower back down, pressing at the inside of his feet, directing him to spread his legs.

"Three infractions, two strokes per infraction - how many is that my little math whiz? Answer me."

"Six, ma’am," he said, swallowing hard, biting back a reminder about being soft and gentle.

"So smart and so gorgeous," she said. "And yet so forgetful. Let’s help you remember."

Tony lowered his head, braced himself, reminded himself that this was playing and there were words.

Instead of a hand, rough or mild, he felt warm breath, then teeth pressing against the crease of leg and buttock. She didn’t bite down, didn’t intend to hurt, just pressed against sensitive flesh. He kind of hoped she was leaving indentations on his skin - kind of liked the idea of her marking him.

Then she licked, a warm, wet swipe over the area. Tony’s eyes slipped closed, savoring the tremors and sparking energy that radiated from that tiny area.

Pepper was a goddess. Aphrodite and Venus and whoever the hell the goddess of sex and love was in other pantheons.

"You’re going to count for me," she said, her voice drifting down; she had risen to standing while he was caught in the aftermath of teeth and tongue and unexpected eroticism.

The first stroke didn’t hurt at all - it was glancing and left pleasant tingles in its wake; she rubbed at it all the same.

"One," he said, then winced. She appeared to have given her permission, but she hadn’t been explicit; he hoped he hadn’t fucked up again.

"Good," she said; he breathed out.

The second stroke was the same as the first, just in a different location. She rubbed longer after he counted it off, her fingers sliding and dipping, roaming far from where she’d delivered the strike.

As his punishment continued, her hands moved more - touching more of his skin, rubbing and caressing - moving up, sliding past his tailbone - seemingly searching for something - delivering strong, pulsing pressure at a point that seemed to engorge him more, swell him more.

She returned there after every stroke, after he whimpered out the number. Soft, gentle and maddening. He’d been right to want this; she was crazy if she thought it was punishment; he was never going to forget this; he hadn’t come close to learning a lesson.

By the sixth he was ready to burst, ready to beg and mewl and moan for her. Do anything.

She curved against him, pressing him against the car - the cool, sleek metal brushing his arousal, offering nothing - no friction, no warmth, no promise of release. "That nerve cluster I’ve been manipulating controls this," she announced, reaching beneath him, skimming a single finger along where he needed pressure and rhythm. "If you ever want me to touch you there again - enhance the delicious swelling we both love so much - you’ll remember to do as you’re told. Got it, Anthony? Tell me."

"Yes," he stammered out. "Yes, please, please, please."

"Roll over," she said, "And get that delectable ass of yours up on the hood of your fancy car."

He scrambled to do exactly that, his focus divided between the throbbing between his legs and her stripping herself bare mere feet away; he lay propped on his elbows, the back of his feet dangling and hitting against tire, watching her avidly, fighting the urge to touch and stroke and pump himself. When she was naked and ready, she crawled up on the car, crouched over and him and sunk down. 

She smiled at him, warm and soft, and said, "Feel free to make pretty sounds for me."

He gasped, he cried out, he made pretty sounds for her - incoherent, sex sounds that increased and intensified as she rode him - hard and fast, ruthlessly and brutally beautifully. He slipped into a floating, glittering, formless place - stayed there, rocking and flying.　

Opening his eyes took effort and it was only out of a desire to see Pepper that he even bothered.

"Told you subspace was good," she said, smiling gently down at him. His back was chaffing against the car, her weight heavy on his hips, he was sweaty and exhausted and he’d never felt better in his life.

"Yes, Lady Ember," he acknowledged. "Very good."

She grinned then slid off of him, tugged at his hands until he stood up. His legs, still a little wobbly, gave out and Pepper ended up helping lower him to the floor. He rested his back against the Audi, the solidity of the car at his back and the floor beneath him helping him ground, helping him emerge from the cocoon of insensibility he’d been in.

She smiled indulgently down at him before lowering herself into his lap, wet skin sliding over quiescent flesh. He brought his knees up and she rested back against them, her fingers wandering over every part of him they could reach. Obviously they hadn’t realized that the physical part of the evening was done for the moment.

"I told you subspace wasn’t anything to be afraid of," she pointed out as her fingers skimmed lazy circles around the RT. 

"It is when you’re seeing it for the first time," he countered, moving his hands to rest against her hips, his thumbs tracing at the curve of the delicate bones there. Pepper didn’t protest.

"I’ll give you that," she agreed. "But I knew that you’d keep me safe."

He smiled at her. Her belief in him, her trust and certainty, never failed to swamp him with happiness and pride, never failed to leave him feeling thoroughly content and warmly affectionate.

"Just like you should know that I’ll keep you safe," she added, her forehead falling forward to rest against his. 

"You’ve been doing that for a decade," he pointed out.

That appeared to have been exactly the right thing to say. Pepper’s eyes lit up and her smile broadened and she kissed him soundly for long and heady moments.

"It’s harder than I thought it would be," she mused after she released his mouth and started breathing slowly again.

He struggled to keep up with her, his head still slightly spinny. Her mouth was set in the hard lines that indicated the beginning of a serious conversation he wasn’t quite ready for yet.

"You mean the way Other Tony was?" he asked playfully, deflecting her. "The nerve cluster thing worked its magic."

"That wasn’t what I was talking about, Anthony," the fingers that had been gentle turned rough, pinching the underside of his arm in a way that was far more arousing than painful. "And just wait until I manipulate it during climax."

He stopped breathing for several seconds before he recovered. "I can’t wait for that, ma’am. Really, really can’t wait."

"But you’ll have to," she smirked.

He suppressed a shiver of anticipation and arousal; her eyes hardened again, another precursor of serious thoughts.

"Having sex on a car? It is a skill," he grinned, inviting more pinches, more caresses, more of anything and everything except seriousness. "And I would call it challenging, not hard."

She arched an eyebrow up. "For a genius, you can be kind of dense sometimes."

"Agreed," he granted her, because she was right. "Are you talking about getting the leather pants off? If so, you should’ve seen me trying to get them on. I wasn’t late on purpose, you know." He wasn’t exactly lying – she just didn’t know one sentence didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the other. "Though now that I know you’re such a brute I’ll be very sure never to disappoint you again."

She smiled gently, kissed him fiercely, and said firmly some indeterminate amount of time later, "You don’t disappoint me anymore, Anthony – except when you’re being deliberately obtuse. I meant being the Domme is more difficult than I expected it to be."

He gasped out a laugh, shaking her as it tripped into a full-on guffaw. "You have got to be kidding me. You’re a natural, ma’am. I don’t think punishing me freaked you out at all."

She laughed, too. "No, I rather liked punishing you. But I had a scene planned, Anthony. We were going to go to Coogie’s and I was going to make you eat a salad."

Tony stared at her in horror. "You were going to make me wear leather pants to Coogie’s and make me eat a salad while everyone around me got to eat the best burgers in California?"

"I worry about your health."

He shook his head in dismay. She was a cruel mistress. Very cruel. "But _Coogie’s_? I have a reputation there."

"You have a reputation everywhere," she smirked.

"I can’t disagree," he conceded. 

"Smart man," she murmured, then shook her head and frowned, her gaze drifting away. "I don’t know how they did it."

_The other Masters_. Tony grimaced. He didn’t like it when she talked about them or thought about them or compared this with what she’d had with them.

"I think you did extremely well," he volunteered, trying to pull her focus back to the workshop, the present, _him_. "Gold star, ma’am. Two thumbs up, Academy Award for best performance by a Dominatrix."

She blinked and stared at him. "A good Domme wouldn’t have let you climax during a punishment."

The words cut him. He’d let _her_ climax – had _needed_ her to climax – when he’d punished her.

"Why? Is there some test? An international Dominant tribunal?" he demanded, veering dangerously close to insubordination. "Are the BDSM Police going to show up on our doorstep dressed in latex and masks bearing whips and nipple clamps to punish us for doing it wrong? We do what we need to do, Pe, uhm, Lady Ember – what works for _us_." 

He hadn’t realized he had so many thoughts on the subject, but once he got going, he found that he had lots to say. "You’re doing very well and you’re definitely meeting every one of my needs," he continued, upset that she was doubting herself. "That’s the only thing you need to worry about, right? What I need, what you need, what we need, the relationship between us."

He stopped, breathless, bracing for anger or dismissal.

"You’re right," she said, her voice quiet and awestruck. 

"Damn right I’m right," he continued. "I’ve been studying," he reminded her, "And learning - about myself and about you and how this involvement works. The only rules are the ones we create between us."

She chuckled, her fingers tracing idle patterns across his clavicle. "I spent the afternoon avoiding you, trying to regain the proper headspace - going over and over the scene in the bedroom - trying to figure out if I was doing this right when all I really needed to do was talk to you."

He smiled proudly.

She cocked her head. "But you already knew all that. You’d already worked it all out."

He nodded avidly. Things had been so much easier for him as her Dom since he’d instituted the post-scene analysis; he was ridiculously happy that he’d figured out something about this relationship before Pepper.

"The scene this afternoon was really good, Lady Ember," he said. "You pushed my limits and taught me something I didn’t know about myself - namely that I like the backdoor loving. With small things. Tiny things," he hastened to clarify. "You were firm and understanding and met a need I didn’t even know I had."

He took a deep breath. "And I’m thankful for the opportunity to tell you that."

She blew out a breath. "I thought I knew everything there was to know about the lifestyle. I thought I’d figured out the dynamics of our involvement. I was mistaken."

"I think this has been quite a growth lesson for the two o-," he quirked an eyebrow, looking down to where she rested against his crotch, "the three of us."

She pinched him again, but she was smiling, too. "I didn’t expect to find you quite so distracting," she said. "It was difficult to follow the first scene through to the end. And the second one...it didn’t go at all according to plan."

"I did need to be punished," he pointed out brightly. "You had to take care of that. I was being exceedingly naughty."

"Exceedingly is right," she said wryly. "I hope you learned your lesson."

"I did," he said, sincerity dripping from every syllable. "I really, really did."

She made a non-committal noise; she knew him too well to believe him.

"And now you have some idea of what I’m up against," he pointed out. "You’re _very_ …what’s a synonym for distracting?"

She frowned bemusedly. "Off-putting."

"Hardly. Give me another one."

"Diverting."

"Perfect. You’re very diverting. So when you tell me I can work you over longer or push your limits more, just realize that I can barely keep my hands off you most of the time." 

She blinked rapidly, then kissed him again, providing soft, sweet, gentle pressure.

When she released his mouth, he grinned, eyes lighting, full of mischief and unrestrained glee. "Are you going to buy me assless chaps next time?"

"More like crotchless," she grinned, not denying that there would be a next time. "I like your ass in leather." She stood, gracefully, flawlessly, and reached a hand down to help him up. "We need to eat. I want you to clean up the clothes and meet me in the kitchen in five minutes. Five minutes, Anthony. Got it?"

"Yes, ma’am," he grinned. "How do you feel about my keister in other fabrics?" he asked as he clambered to his feet; his back was aching and he was chilled from the extended contact with the floor - it was strange how he hadn’t noticed while Pepper was folded into his lap.

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"How about my behind in sweats?" he asked. After all, he needed information.

She scoffed.

"My heinie in the suit?"

"It’s _metal_ ," she said witheringly.

"My buns in jeans?"

Her eyebrows twitched up and color began to bleed across her throat. 

_That’s useful information_ , Tony thought. _Very useful_.

"Four minutes," she said firmly, spinning and starting to pad towards the door.

"My butt in Hugo Boss?" he persisted, starting to gather up their scattered clothing.

"Don’t make me gag you," she said without slowing down.

_Gag_ , he thought. _Could be fun_.

"My fanny in a Speedo?" he called after her, daring her to follow through on her promising threat. "My derriere in khakis? Would you say that I have back, Lady Ember? A ba-donka-donk? "


	20. Anthony gives his Lady a pedicure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to saourise for making the comment that got me thinking about exploring the non-sexual aspects of the D/s relationship; if you like this chapter, thank her - if you hate it, blame me.
> 
> More thanks to ragdoll , 17pansies and foodygoody for the awesome nail polish names! I know that I skipped several steps of the pedicure process. I just don’t find pumicing calluses sexy. Go figure.

Tony felt that he’d earned some sexy fun with Lady Ember. Really earned it. He’d made her breakfast (pancakes that turned out surprisingly fluffy and eggs sunny side up that turned out disgustingly rubbery) and lunch (soup from a can and sandwiches; she had indicated that he needed to plan something better for the next Sunday she was in charge); had washed the dishes _by hand_. Twice. And he had suffered through an hour of writhing around on yoga mats doing actual yoga while fully dressed. His t-shirt was soaked from the dishwater and his muscles were sore from the stretching.

He’d _definitely_ earned a reward.

Lady Ember, however, didn’t agree.

Pepper’s fingers drummed harder against the arms of the chair she was sitting in – a wingback in his bedroom that he’d never actually sat in; that no one had ever actually sat in – and her left leg – which was crossed over her right – swung harder; he had no idea what her expression was because his head was lowered, something which, upon reflection, he should’ve done _before_ looking disappointed because his bed was distressingly free of restraints, toys and lube.

"Anthony, what do I tell you over and over?" 

_To attend meetings; dress properly; eat more than I drink; keep it in my pants; and not to antagonize senators, reporters, terrorists, criminal masterminds or board members_ , he thought ruefully. He was pretty sure that wasn't what she was looking for.

He went with, "It’s not just about sex, Lady Ember."

Her foot stopped swinging. "No, it’s not." She said it in a tone that made it very clear that she was set on proving it. On a Sunday.

Tony shut his eyes tightly and held back the wave of disappointment. Saturdays were for playing games and denial and pushing limits, not Sundays. Sundays were for gorging on each other’s bodies, for coming together over and over again, for inuring himself against the two weeks he had to go through before he was able to touch her again.

How did Pepper not know that?

"Anthony," she said softly. "Look at me."

He schooled his features and met her gaze. She was ridiculously lovely, her hair loose and softly framing her face, her green dress gauzy and floaty.

He really hoped she wasn’t planning on punishing him; with the way the day was going she’d probably make him review spreadsheets or write apology notes to the Senate Armed Services Committee. And France.

"Shirt off," she ordered languidly; Tony’s heart jolted. Half-naked was one step away from being fully naked and fully naked was one step away from bodies rubbing together.

He stripped off the half-soaked t-shirt; she hummed appreciatively as his skin emerged. Tony suppressed a triumphant smile. She’d been pretty clear that she was as attracted to him as he was to her, that she couldn’t keep her hands off of him any more than he could keep his off of her.

Things were going to be just fine.

He started to toss the shirt to the floor but paused when she raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

Obviously she didn’t approve.

"Sorry," he mumbled, tightening his hold on the clothing.

"Oh, Anthony," she sighed. "We have _such_ a long way to go." She took a deep, sustaining breath, then smiled brightly. "There’s a foot spa in the bathroom. You are going to fill it with warm water and some of the oil sitting next to it and bring it back in here."

His eyebrows fought him. _Hard_.

" _Now_."

He bit back a sigh and did as ordered, making sure the water wasn’t too hot or too oily. He brought the spa back out and set it at her feet.

"On your knees, pet."

Somehow, it didn’t sound as lascivious as it should have.

He knelt in front of her; she lowered her feet into the water, sighing happily. "Perfect, sweetheart," she crooned. "You do please me."

_Not as much as I could_ , he thought.

She twiddled her toes and moved her feet back and forth gently, watching as the water flowed and ebbed over them.

Tony regarded her steadily, her face tipped at a fetching angle, her hair sliding over her shoulders, an expression of pure happiness and contentment spread across her face. She looked up at him and smiled; there was none of the meek subservience of little one or the commanding determination of Lady Ember about that smile – it was a completely Pepper expression, one so heart-stoppingly welcome and familiar that he had the brief, and completely insane, thought that that expression alone almost made up for the fact that he was, almost definitely, not going to have sex before she left.

She breathed out and the smile widened. "Anthony? What’s going on in that head of yours?"

"Just admiring the view, Lady Ember."

She flushed, flattered; she still wasn’t used to him complimenting her. And, even though he could easily find things to compliment her on daily – hourly, even, on the days she wasn’t annoying the shit out of him – he enjoyed her blushing discomfiture too much; it was best to spring compliments on her sparingly and without warning.

He watched as she pulled herself together, watched her will the color away, shutter her eyes, regain control of herself and the scene.

"Sit on your butt," she said. "Your knees are going to get tired and I don’t want you whining about it."

As he positioned himself cross-legged on the floor – his yoga-battered body complaining -　 his thoughts raced to Pepper on her knees in front of him, her mouth around him, her fingers sliding back, back, back, between the globes of his ass – reaching, stroking, slid-.

"Anthony," she said sharply; he knew she knew exactly what he was thinking – she usually did. "Focus. The first step of a pedicure involves you massaging my feet with the foot scrub."

She handed him a basket full of lotions and unguents and mysterious objects. Tony looked at it uncertainly.

"It says ‘foot scrub’ on the tube, Anthony."

"Got it," he mumbled, finding the right tube and flipping it open. The contents were thick and gelatinous and smelled strongly of mint and something sweetly fruity.

"Berry mint," Pepper supplied helpfully. "It’s very invigorating."

Tony took her word for it.

"Uhm?"

"Here." She lifted one foot out of the water and rested it on the edge of the spa.

He slid his hand around her ankle, lifting it slightly, taking the weight of her foot in his hand. The scrub slipped and sloughed, the granules and the stickiness pulling slightly at his skin as he rubbed. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation, a surprisingly alluring experience: her feet were small and delicate and pretty close to perfect and he liked taking care of them - liked taking care of her - wished she’d let him do it more often.

"Nicely done," she said, sliding her foot from his grasp. She plunked it back into the water and pushed the other into his hands. Tony repeated his actions, moving the scrub in small, tight circles until she deemed the job finished and retrieved her foot from him.

"What next?" he asked, surprisingly eager to continue with the process. He’d never been into feet before - shoes, yes; the higher and strappier and sexier the better – but not feet. Leave it to Pepper to once again help him uncover a kink he’d never known he possessed.

"Make sure the scrub is off my feet," she prompted, leaning back and staring at him.

He cupped the water in his hands, sluiced it over her feet, brushing the skin free of the gel and pumice. His thoughts quieted as the combination of warm water and warmer skin pulled him into the moment.

"Have you ever done this before?" she asked, startling him.

"Of course not," he scoffed, forgetting himself momentarily.　You didn’t take care of one-night stands or cheerleading squads or Maxim models – you did them and got on with your life.

"You like this, don’t you?" she asked unnecessarily; she knew him better than he knew himself.

He nodded, eyes skittering between her face and her feet.

"What do you like about it?"

"The roughness of the scrub, your feet in my hands," he answered. "Taking care of you."

"My sweet, kinky, kinky boy," she grinned, pulling her left foot out of the water and pushing it towards him. "Dry my feet and rub in the lotion next."

He located the fluffy black towel - chosen by Pepper when she’d overseen the redo of his bathroom; she did have exquisite taste; her interest in him was proof of _that_ \- and rubbed her foot, making very sure to soak up every last droplet.

Done, he grabbed up the bottle of lotion from the basket and flipped it open. Squirting a goodly portion into his hand, he began to massage it into her foot, taking care to push against muscle and flesh; she made little moans and whimpers that were sexy, not sexual.

He’d never realized there was a difference.

He pressed his thumbs into the arch of her foot, pushing up and out, feeling the tense and strained muscle give beneath his ministrations. Pepper’s head dropped back and her eyes slid closed.

"Like this?" he asked, wanting to hear her praise him again.

"Oh, _God_ ," she acknowledged. "Anthony."

He pushed his fingers between her toes, pushing them back gently, stretching them. His palm cradled her heel, rubbed gently where the straps of her shoes always cut into her skin. She whimpered again and he gently increased the pressure. He rotated her foot, clockwise then counterclockwise, watching the lines of her face relax and her lips separate slightly. He rested her foot on his knee and began to slide his fingers up her calf, destroying tension as he found it – using his fingers and circular motions to wear away at kinks and knots. He reached her knee and brushed it gently, then leaned forward and pressed a chaste, close-mouthed kiss to the skin.

Her eyes shot open and she stared down at him.

"You are a bad boy," she murmured, "But that was divine so I’ll forgive you. The other one now, sweetheart."

He guided her right foot from the water and repeated his actions, watching her face closely. She was staring at him through half-lowered lids, a slight smile playing at the edges of her lips. He followed her calf muscle with his fingertips, the line of her shin bone with his lips, kissed her knee and rested his forehead there for a long breathless moment. The world had coalesced to this room, her breathing, his breathing, her skin beneath his hands and his mouth – he was boneless and content; it was like a mild form of subspace.

"Anthony," she said gently. He met her eyes, wondered what she could see in his.

"You need to get rid of that." She pointed to the spa; he had somehow curved himself over it in the quest to touch his lips to her skin.

"Of course, milady." His legs were shaking a bit and his arms felt heavy and clumsy. It took a great deal of concentration to navigate the foot bath back into the bathroom without sloshing its contents all over himself.

He returned to his position at Pepper’s feet without being told to.

"Have you ever painted nails before?" she asked, handing him a bottle of clear polish.

"No, ma’am - but I have very good hands." He smiled broadly, his natural flirtatiousness returning along with his sense of balance.

"Behave," she chided gently. "Shake the bottle and paint my toenails - we need a base coat before you apply the color.

"Be very careful not to get any on my skin. I’ll be _very_ put out if you do."

Tony was torn between wanting to please her and wanting to push the limits. Pleasing her won out.

The smell of the polish was strong, chemically and potent. He’d never smelled raw nail polish - the women he’d been with before - before Afghanistan and trigger words and the _involvement_ \- had come pre-painted.

Carefully, he pulled the small brush out of the bottle; there was a distressing amount of thick liquid dripping off of it.

"Squeeze it against the sides," Pepper instructed. "Like when you’re painting a wall."

"I’ve never painted a wall," he pointed out, doing as he’d been told.

"Something for us to do during my next weekend."

His head snapped up to find her looking down at him, mischief dancing in her eyes.

"As you wish," he said, fully confident that she _didn’t_ wish it.

"One day you’ll really mean that," she said as he started to apply the polish to her toes. It glided on easily, smoothing over the gleaming nail. He was starting to actually like the smell, like the way her foot twitched gently in his hand, the way her breathing had changed high above his head.

"Am I doing it right?"

"Since when do you want constant direction?" she demanded as he finished one foot and started on the other.

He paused and peered up at her. "Since about noon yesterday."

She bit her lip and shook her head. "You really are incorrigible. Fortunately for you I find it rather endearing."

He capped the bottle and looked back up at her, waiting for further instruction.

"We wait for the polish to dry."

"Or we can speed up the process," Tony noted, cradling her feet in his palms and lifting them, blowing on the toes gently.

She exhaled gustily, eyes wide. "That works, too."

He wiggled his eyebrows, kept blowing, kept enjoying the way her eyes darkened and her fingers dug into the arms of the chair.

"I think we can move on," she prompted, voice thick and breathy, a minute later.

"Are you sure?" he asked, making sure to let his breath spread warmly over her feet.

"You are dangerously close to going from incorrigible to recalcitrant," she said, pulling her feet from his grasp and tossing another bottle of polish at him. "I do _not_ find recalcitrance endearing."

"Yes, ma’am," he said meekly, staring at the bottle in his hands. The polish was red. A very familiar red. Red the color of….

"Ma’am?" he asked, his voice rising on the word; he peered up at her, brandishing the bottle.

"The name is on the bottom," she prompted; her tone was treacle-sweet but there was harshness underlying the words. Tony wondered what could have engendered it.

Tony flipped the container upside down and peered at the tiny label. "Hot Rod Red?"

"Part of the O*P*I Iron Man collection." She held up a bottle of black polish. "Boardroom Black."

"Because boardrooms are dark, dark places," he said, nodding his approval of the color and the name. "Smart people over at O*P*I."

"Yes," she said, drawing the single syllable out, hissing the "s."

Definite harshness. Something was rankling her.

She dropped the bottle into her lap and picked up another one. "Blaze of Power." Bright orange.

"Like it," he proclaimed.

"I’m so pleased." There was another exchange of bottles. "Heart of Steel." That one was silver-blue - the color of the RT.

"Oh."

"We’re trying to figure out how they learned about the chest piece," she said. "And this one." She was twirling a bottle in her fingers, her expression hard. "This one is my personal favorite. Stark Naked."

He peered at the bottle - the color of the polish was sickeningly familiar.

"It seems the woman who came up with this color had a ride on the Stark Hot Rod," she said musingly, peering at the bottle. "You made quite the impression on her. Imagine my surprise when I received the samples."

Tony shut his mouth with a firm click and focused on applying a coat of the red polish to her nails. He knew an untenable situation when he saw one.

"Oh, Anthony," she sighed; he glanced up through lowered lashes, gauging how angry she really was - she was smiling down at him gently, fondly. "I sometimes forget that you really have come a long way."

"Thank you," he replied, as he finished polishing and started blowing; he had no defense - wasn’t even sure if he needed one. Pepper knew that he’d slept with…most of Southern California...and adjacent counties...and states. She knew that he’d had a past; a varied and storied past; the kind of past they made movies and wrote songs about. She’d seen the past - escorted it out of the house.

She sighed and leaned back in the chair, her eyes slipping closed.

Sometime later, when he was applying the second coat of red, he said, "I really need to start reading the memos you send me, not just saying I do."

She opened one baleful and blue eye. "That would be nice, Anthony. I don’t want to be the only person knowing this stuff."

He took a deep breath. "I trust you, ma’am. Completely and implicitly. I know you’d never do anything to hurt me…"

" _Much_ ," she interjected.

Momentarily thrown, he goggled at her stupidly. "Yes, I kno-, real-? How muc-. Never mi-. I meant when it comes to the company. You’re not like…other people." He was very careful not to say the name, not to think it; doing so would earn him hours of panicky breathing and at least one nightmare - maybe two. "You forgive me for my stupidity and don’t take advantage of me and you tell me when things are really important. I appreciate it. A lot. And I know I don’t tell you that enough. So I’m telling you now."

Her eyes were narrowed and she was drawing deep breaths in and out of her nose. Loudly. "You’re serious."

"I am Pe-Lady Ember. And I will try to read the memos. I promise."

"Okay…."

"And I’m sorry about the," he waved at the bottle of Stark Naked. "It’s my past and it is what it is, but I don’t like it being thrown in your face."

"Me, either."

"But I do like that you recognized the color."

She sucked her cheeks in and gave him a withering glare.

"But it’s the _past_ ," he elaborated. "You know that, right?"

"Getting there," she said quietly; she tapped his hand with the bottle of clear polish. "Time for the top coat."

He flipped the bottle over. Clearly Invincible.

He really needed to start reading the memos.

"And Anthony?"

"Yes, ma’am?"

He looked up at her.

"Next time you’re painting flowers on the big toes. Start practicing. I bet You would be happy to be your test subject."

She was smiling down at him, _really_ smiling. He’d been forgiven. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve her, but maybe, one day, he’d be able to figure it out so he could do it again and again.

"What kind of flowers?" he asked.


	21. Pepper gives Tony a tour of the playroom

"I like the bed, Potts," Tony decided after throwing himself on it and spending several minutes rolling and flopping around. "It’s bouncy and firm – good support – sturdy headboard." He stopped and stared at her. "It’s perfect."

She was standing several feet away, watching him bemusedly "I’m so pleased," she said. "But there are other features to the room, you know."

"But this is the important one," he pointed out. "My old guest bed…."

Her chin tilted up dangerously.

"Got a lot of use," he finished recklessly.

"I know just how much use it got," she said smoothly. "Don’t you want to see the coffee table? Once you’re tied to it there’s no escaping – I even had a pad made for it – someone could stay tied down for hours."

He peered over at the table - it looked like every other coffee table: heavy, solid, innocuous.

"I’ll take your word for it. Unless," he sat up, suddenly very interested in the workings of the coffee table. "You want to demonstrate."

"Not today," she smiled. "Come look at the cabinet."

"I can see it from here," he pointed out as he snuggled back against the mountain of brown and gold pillows. The bed was _really_ comfortable.

She screwed her eyes up, then gave in. "It locks," she said. "And I’ve organized all of the equipment." She swung open the doors so he could see the contents of the toy drawers on the shelves, neatly organized and arranged.

He laughed. Pepper was always fastidious – even with their sex toys.

"What?"

"You’re adorable," he said. "I need you to come sit down with me."

She cleared her throat and gestured to the Papa San chair, assiduously ignoring the heretofore potent puppy dog eyes/throaty voice combination. "You can tie me…."

"Or you can tie me," he pointed out, pitching his voice even lower.

"Yes," she said, drawing out the word deliciously. "One can be tied inside of it or," she maneuvered the bulky basket seat off of the stand and arranged it on the floor upside down, "Tied face down and draped over the curve – it makes important body parts easily accessible."

"Damn," he observed – watching her manhandle the furniture was as sexy as her describing all of the delightful ways they could use it.

She sucked her teeth and smiled, putting the chair back together. "The desk…."

"Is perfect for being bent over," he supplied. He’d noticed that right after the bed; his head had filled with visions of Pepper bent over the desk, crying out for his fingers, him bent over the desk crying out for her fingers....

Her eyes darkened. "Exactly."

"Seriously, Potts, I want you to come over here," he prompted, deploying full-on sultriness. 

Obviously she was immune to sultry because she didn’t immediately leap onto the bed (and him). Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and demanded to know why.

"I think you should roll around with me for a while - try out the bed – make sure it suits our purposes."

She smiled charmingly, winningly - like she always did the moment before she executed the verbal equivalent of a roundhouse kick. "I _have_ tried out the bed, Tony. When you were off being a superhero I came in here, stripped and had a party with the big vibrator."

"You did?" he choked out, flailing slightly at the idea of it – Pepper spread out, legs open, filling herself with a pulsing, fizzing toy.

"Of course not, genius," she smirked. "I ordered the same mattress you have in your bedroom. Get up please...."

"Because you can't control yourself with me spread out like an all-you-can eat buffet?"

"And because we need to go over the weekend," she said; he noted that she didn't deny that he looked completely edible.

"The weekend is history. We need to focus on the future. Show me how you’d use the big vibrator."

"Not on a Thursday," she said briskly, sitting down at the desk and flipping open the laptop; she crossed her legs demurely at the ankle and called up whatever file she kept the details of their playtimes in.

"What’d you do with my old guestroom bed, Pep?"

She looked up at him then lowered her eyes. "I don’t remember. You’d just come home and my mind was focused on other things. I had the room emptied as you requested – I don’t really know what happened to the bed after that."

"It should’ve been bronzed," he mused.

"Or _burned_ ," she observed icily.

"Did you have my bed _burned_?" he asked, horrified. "That bed should’ve been saved for the inevitable Tony Stark: Iron Man museum where it could be displayed for posterity."

"Obviously," she said. "I put it in storage where it awaits the day it can be enshrined in the Hall of Hoochies at the Tony Stark Memorial Museum."

"Tony Stark: _Iron Man_ Memorial Museum," he corrected her.

"Of course," she sighed. "This weekend. Your thoughts."

"You’re an amazing Domme and I loved every last thing about the weekend I had with Lady Ember. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to join me over here? That desk chair doesn’t look very comfortable."

"The chair is fine, Tony. Please focus. I do have other things to do today."

He flipped over and cradled his temple in his palm, head propped up on an elbow. He was a child with a new playroom and a playmate who was very fun to play with; he wanted to try things out.

"What’s more important than our involvement?"

"Stark Ind-."

"Wrong. Your priorities are skewed. Try again."

Pepper sighed her _I’m humoring you because I have to in order to get what I want_ sigh and pushed the laptop to one side so she could lean over the desk, her arms stretched out, her fingers digging into the far edge. "Tony, do you want to hear about my favorite part of the weekend?"

"Maybe," he hedged. He had the feeling he she was up to something, but he couldn’t be entirely sure.

"My favorite part of the weekend was looking at your ass in those leather pants."

"Are you flirting with me?" he asked hopefully. He loved it when she got flirty on a weekday.

"Most definitely. Is it working?"

"Hell yeah."

"I’ll do it more if you would actually _participate in this meeting_."

Tony looked at her, turning the offer around in his head. If he pissed her off entirely there was no hope she’d actually give in to him; however, there was no hope even if he didn’t piss her off - but at least there would be less yelling and recitation of his many faults.

"Okay." He slid his torso up until it was nestled in an eiderdown cocoon. "Here’s the truth, I didn’t like Sunday."

"I figured as much," she said, calmly, gently, evenly. "Your Sundays tend to be a little more," she paused, " _vigorous_."

"Two weeks," he pointed out. "We have to go two weeks without touching each other. I need to store up for that - need to get prepared. I say we start my next weekend on a Friday. It’s only fair."

"Denied.

"Sunday needed to be something more than unending sex, Tony." He opened his mouth to dissent. "It _did_ ," she said, neatly cutting him off. "Saturday was difficult for me…."

"Because of my animal magnetism and amazing ass."

"Yes," she smiled. "And because switching roles was challenging - it made me think and rethink and think some more. I thought I was prepared and I was wrong. It shook me. Our talk after your punishment…."

"And the mind-blowing sex against the Audi."

She paused. "Yes, it was mind-blowing - but the talk was just as good and infinitely more important. It helped me get my head where it needed to be." She blinked. "No jokes, please."

"Wouldn’t think of it," he said sincerely. "Now you know what I go through every weekend - but I let myself give into the animal magnetism. What’s wrong with that?"

"Nothing, because that works for you as a Dom; I wanted something different - I had planned something different, had really thought I could follow through, but…."

He smirked.

"Yes, it was difficult for me to keep my hands off of you when given the chance to touch you as much as I wanted to, Tony," she conceded. "I’ve never denied that I find you very attractive or that our sexual chemistry isn’t explosive."

"Keep going," he said encouragingly.

"But I want to explore other facets of our relationship. The sex is spectacular, but this involvement can be so much more." She stopped and looked at him searchingly. "You do realize that, right?"

He stared at her and thought it over, _really_ thought it over. Their relationship - weekday and weekend - was good, strong; he enjoyed her company, even when she was fully dressed and haughty, and always looked forward to talking to her about almost everything; he liked hanging out with her; _loved_ having sex with her.

"Yep. I get it. We’re friends," he grinned, "with benefits. You’re definitely prettier than Rhodey and smell better than Happy and you’ll actually play board games with me." He paused a beat. "You do need to learn to play Rock Band though. That’d make you the perfect woman."

Pepper dropped her head and pulled the laptop back in front of her. "Rock Band, check," she mumbled.

Tony had the very bad feeling that he’d said something very stupid.

He ran through the conversation: he’d complimented her and acknowledged their deepening rapport.

Nothing wrong with that.

"What?" he demanded. "What’d I do?"

She looked up at him and smiled, but he was able to see that her eyes didn’t exactly sparkle or brighten like they did when she _really_ smiled. "Nothing. You didn’t do anything. So, to sum up, you liked Saturday because we had sex and didn’t like Sunday because we didn’t."

Tony frowned, thought a little, remembered wanting to do things to make her happy, realized that Sunday had had its own benefits.

"That’s not entirely true," he said softly. "I did like taking care of you. I liked doing something for you that made you happy. It made me feel close to you in a different way. Sunday was good. Really good. That’s what you meant, right? About there being more about this involvement than just the sex - there’s the growth and taking care of each other and doing nice things for each other." He stammered to a stop. She was staring at him, head tilted, eyes soft. "What?"

"Get up, Tony."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it," she said again in a tone very like the one Lady Ember used. He fumbled to his feet even as she stood and crossed to him.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked before she yanked him forward, her mouth seeking out his, her tongue immediately dueling with his. He was stunned into inaction for upwards of ten seconds before he was able to pull together the wits to kiss her back and migrate his hands to the back of her head and the back of her ass respectively; hers were squeezing his arms in a vise grip.

As he was trying to decide if he was going to chance stopping the kiss for the ten seconds needed to get air and possibly give her time to re-think or if he was just going to keep kissing her until he passed out, she pulled her face away from his. She was heaving and panting; so was he.

"What was that?" he demanded as soon as he had spare oxygen.

"I’m not entirely sure," she said; her hands were still tight against his arms; his were still on her head and her ass.

"Can we kiss on weekdays now?"

"It would appear so."

"Without a contract meeting?" he asked impishly; he was off-balance - Pepper had changed the rules without a warning or a long, drawn-out discussion or alterations to their contract - and his default settings when discomfited were inappropriate humor, limit-testing and oppositionality; of course they were also his default settings when not discomfited.

They’d had yet to fail him.

"Tony." 

"How many kisses a day?" he asked.

"One," she said decidedly, as if she’d given the matter great thought and not just attacked him in their brand-new playroom.

"One total kiss a day or one kiss _each_ a day?"

She lifted her eyebrows.

"I’m trying to gather vital information," he protested.

"It’s going to be irrelevant if you keep it up," she retorted, her fingers tightening on his arms. He took that as permission and swooped in for another kiss, less tongue, less heat, plenty of opportunity to taste her lips.

She looked happy when he finally released her, flushed and smiling. "That just used up our allotment of kisses for the day."

"In the playroom," he said meaningfully. "We haven’t kissed in the kitchen yet."

"Oh, Tony," she smiled.

"That’s not a no," he pointed out.

"It’s not a yes, either," she retorted. "I really need to get to work." She let go of his arms and walked towards the door.

He wasn't ready for her to leave yet; somehow - he had no idea how - he'd talked himself into something pretty good: he needed data to replicate the results.

"You’ve been right all these years, Potts."

That made her stop, turn back towards him, curiosity all over her face.

"The talking thing really works," he prompted.

"It does," she said encouragingly. 

"Yeah. Like when I said...."

She smiled maddeningly - it was obvious she wasn't going to help him without him asking.

"What did I say exactly? I want to make sure to say it again."

She smiled serenely, "You can figure it out. I have faith in you Iron Man." She turned and started walking towards her office.

"But what if I can’t?" he whined, manfully.

"You will," she called back.

"You could just tell me."

"But that would be cheating."

"I don’t have a problem with that."

She didn’t respond.

"Potts? _Pepper_? I don’t have a problem with that!"


	22. Master makes little one wash his car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to spockside for the kinky idea for this chapter.

"Wet’s a good look for you little one."

"Thank you, Master," Pepper replied automatically, pausing in her careful sponging of the passenger side of the Audi to smile at him.

He’d been a little worried about being able to be her Master again – what with his experience as Lady Ember’s Anthony and all of the "spontaneous and frequent osculation" (Jarvis’s term for it) he and Pepper had engaged in – but he was good, he was fine. He’d been able to watch her change into a pair of white short-shorts and a tank top without flinching, had been sitting in his chair mere feet from her as she washed the car. He was strong. He was her Master. He was going to be able to supervise her completing a chore without jumping her.

He was totally rocking the Master role.

"You missed a spot," he pointed out sweetly.

She looked up at him, waiting expectantly for guidance. He was surprised how much he’d missed this – how much he enjoyed it.

"Right there, on the hood," Tony said, leaning forward so he could point out the area – the area right in the middle.

Pepper leaned over the car, giving Tony a truly stunning view of wet cleavage.

His hands twitched, encouraging him to touch her flesh. He resisted the urge. He’d learned that once he got his hands on Pepper it was a battle – and one that he won only rarely – to take them off again; a good Dominant was able to ignore their base urges. Pepper had done it; he could do it.

Besides, he liked this - wanted to watch her bending and straining, wetting herself down thoroughly as she washed the Audi, strain his eyes to make out the shadows of her nipples and her pussy beneath her clothes, follow the straps of the tank top as they slid down her arms…he’d still be a good Master if he touched himself, he decided. Denying himself completely wasn’t healthy.

He opened his jeans and gingerly pulled out his cock, stroking it idly, staring at where her nipples strained against the thin fabric.

"Better?" she asked, looking up again.

"Mmhmm," he hummed, enjoying the hungry look in her eyes as she watched the gentle movements of his fingers.

"Sir?" she asked, her voice raspy.

"The headlights," he prompted. He could watch her for hours; touch himself slowly for just as long. Probably.

"Of course," she mumbled, casting one more greedy look at his busy hand - and what his hand was busy with - before she dragged the bucket filled with soapy water towards the front of the car. The chore seemed to entail a great deal of ass wiggling and hip shimmying; Tony’s hand sped up slightly.

He revised his estimate – he could watch her do this for an hour.

Then she dropped to her knees and batted her eyelashes at him. He had the sudden feeling that he was rapidly losing control over the scene, then she held the sponge over her chest and squeezed and all doubt was gone. Tony watched the descent of the droplets of soapy water in rapt fascination; watched in lust-filled amazement as the water coursed down over the vee of her cleavage. She leaned back slightly, thrusting her chest out further, then slid the soapy sponge over the soaked material covering her torso.

Open-mouthed, cock twitching in his hand, he stared as she pushed the sponge against the pebbled shadows of her nipples and made small tight circles across them, a small, needy sound – he couldn’t discern if it was his or hers or both - echoing loudly across the silent garage.

He was going to be lucky to last five minutes – four – if she kept it up; however, if she stopped – returned her hands to chrome – he could hold out another ten minutes. Eight.

"Sonofabitch," he growled, tightening his hand around his aching cock. "I meant the _car’s_ headlights."

She tipped her chin into her shoulder and gave him a coquettish gaze, her lips forming a perfect "o," – the perfect place to slide the flesh straining against his hand, demanding to be satisfied and satiated, demanding _her_. "Sorry," she purred, trying to look genuinely confused and contrite.

Fucking damn she was good at this. Insanely, crazily, maddeningly good.

"Do it," he demanded.

She pitched leaned, balancing on her knees and one hand and very slowly, very carefully began to soap the clear plastic coverings with the other.

Tony may have whimpered; he probably squeezed his cock tightly; he definitely watched her ass swing back and forth.

"Am I doing it right?" she asked over her shoulder; breathy, curious.

"Yes, little one," he ground out. "Make sure you wash the fender, too."

She smiled slyly at him as she slid the sponge back and forth across the fender in a very familiar pattern. Her lips slid into the perfect "o" again and her melting gaze was fixed on the one part of him that didn’t give a fuck about being a good Master.

Then she stretched her neck back and swept her hair around in a shimmering golden-red wave.

She was every tempting thing – every sweet, forbidden thing.

She knew he was weak - had known it from the day he’d hired her - and it had never seemed to matter to her, not when he was only her boss and definitely not since he’d become her lover – since she started to let him perpetrate acts of the most lascivious nature on her body every other weekend - since she _encouraged_ him to perpetrate the acts on her.

Tony caved. Instantly and completely.

"Come here, little one," he said.

She smiled widely before dropping her eyes and moving towards him on her hands and knees, _crawled_ towards him. It was hot and erotic and wrong and he felt like he shouldn’t be watching her doing it but he sure as hell couldn’t look away.

Pepper settled between his legs and rested her chin on his knee, looked up at him with blue, blue eyes and waited for his order.

Tony took several deep breaths; Pepper blew out several over his aching flesh.

"Mouth, now," he said, pleased that he was able to both form two whole syllables and sound vaguely like he was still in control.

"With pleasure," she murmured, sweeping her talented, warm - _oh God, so warm_ \- mouth down over him. Her lips and tongue and, yep, even her teeth got very busy for several very pleasurable moments before her hands - just as talented and wonderful as her mouth - got involved. But Tony didn’t want fingers and skin - he wanted wet, hot pressure, the lapping and licking and sucking not the stroking and tickling.

"I said _mouth_ ," he ventured gruffly.

Pepper tipped her head back and met his eyes questioningly.

"No hands, little one - I only want your mouth. No hands, or I’ll tie those wrists of yours."

It was meant to be a threat, but Pepper took it as a challenge and a promise. Her eyes widened avidly and her lips turned up, her smile recognizable even stretched around the impressive girth of The Stark Hot Rod. Her eyes held his defiantly as, very deliberately and extremely firmly, her fingers encircled his balls and squeezed; her excited anticipation was almost a physical force.

"Brat," he observed

She blinked and suckled harder, began to flutter her fingers.

With a grunt, Tony pulled his tank off and quickly, deftly - he’d been practicing, after all – gathered her wrists into one big hand and bound them together behind her back. "Quite a predicament," he noted; however, if Pepper’s dilated eyes and the eager, panting breaths flowing over his prick were anything to go by, she didn’t share his opinion.

"Get busy," he ordered as languidly as a man with his penis buried in the mouth of a beautiful woman was able to.

And she did, her mouth like a living thing - like dexterity personified: gentle and harsh as she traced and sucked every inch of him, her teeth skimming, the pain a small, glorious thing, her tongue writhing and soothing, teasing and taunting. Every time she did this to him he was astounded by her skill, her ability - thought about the men who had taught her this, had given her their bodies to practice on, then he would shake those thoughts loose and concentrate on _his_ little one, _his_ Pepper.

He let loose a steady stream of praise and exhortations, one hand deep in her hair, wrapping it around his wrist so he could watch her, watch his cock slide in and out of those succulent lips. Mesmerized, he pushed his finger gently inside her mouth, wanting to feel her tongue working at him – wanting to _touch_. She made a happy little humming noise and, somehow, swirled around the fingertip.

"Good," he praised, then over and over again until the word bled into itself, became one long sound.

She was saying something around his cock - he had no idea what - and the vibrations coursed through the flesh in her mouth pitching him higher and over until it was enough, more than enough – more than anything, and he came in painful, bright bursts, feeling the incredible heat as it flooded her mouth, the motions of her cheek and tongue as she drank him, the pulsing of his own cock thick and steady against his finger.

When he opened his eyes again it was to find the gray cement and recessed lighting of the ceiling. He’d thrown his head back, _hard_ \- he could feel a slight throbbing on the back of his skull; he could also still feel a very pleasurable throbbing between his legs…and Pepper still suckling gently at his cock and his finger.

"Incredible," he said, moving his head and looking down at her, she was smiling up at him, her eyes dreamy. He touched her face gently. "Up little one."

She released him, his mouth and finger sliding out of her mouth wetly and limply, and tipped her head, obviously struggling to understand him. She was in some subspace - not completely removed from him but not damn well close enough either.

"Come up here," he said again. "On my lap."

She frowned, the expression coming slowly and deliberately as she tried to regain her composure. "But you’ll get wet."

"I don’t care," he growled, tugging at her arms until she crawled up and folded herself into his lap and he undid the loose, hasty knot in the t-shirt; he cradled her like a child, rubbed her back and her wrists, praised her over and over. Her skin was chilled, despite the fact that he’d turned the heat up before her arrival, and he moved his hands over her, rubbing gently, before finally telling Jarvis to raise the temperature.

"What were you saying?" he asked several minutes later.

"When, Master?"

"At the end there," he said. "You were saying something around me. What was it?"

She cradled her head against his shoulder and looked up at him and answered, "The names of board members." Then she grinned. Evilly.

"Great, now I’m going to have to deal with boredom _and_ spontaneous erections during Board Meetings."

"I think the spontaneous erections will alleviate the boredom," she observed brightly before she began to graze at the tendons in his neck; he _really_ liked it when she did that.

"But do I really need to have the board members become instantaneously obsessed with me?" he asked, swallowing a whimper as she found the spot, the one that never failed to make him melt in an entirely manly way. "You know how it is - once they get a look at the goods they’ll never leave me alone. You shouldn’t have to share me."

She bit him, then licked away the tingling, nagging sting. "I am very sorry for hurting you, Sir," she apologized, withdrawing teeth and tongue from his skin and staring down at his shoulder.

"It didn’t hurt that much," he said soothingly, even though it kind of _had_. She had sharp teeth.

"I'm happy," she said, her tone approaching - but not reaching - insincerity. "The members of the Board are very important, Sir, so, even though I shouldn’t have to share you, I’d be willing to. After all, I do have a good deal of experience doing it."

He crooked a finger and put it under her chin, pushed inexorably until she released his skin and looked at him. "You’ve never had to share me."

Her eyebrows shot up to her forehead and she snorted, completely forgetting herself. He loved when she became wholly Pepper with him. "Do you not recall the endless parade of bimbos, hoochies, models and strippers?" she asked incredulously.

"Exotic dancers," he corrected. "And you got to spend time with the real me." He felt that it was very important that she understood that, though he had no idea why. "You and Rhodey are really about the only people that ever have, you know." He cocked his head. "And you’re still around."

"What does that tell you?" she asked, peering at him searchingly, something warm and big sparking in her eyes as she looked at him, her eyes moving restlessly across his features.

He had no clue, really – he had never really understood why she’d stuck with him like she had, when none of the other assistants had, when only one other friend had. He was pretty sure it wasn’t just about money or the opportunities being his assistant afforded her.

"You could just tell me," he said, feeling rather lost. "And while you’re at it, you could also tell me what I said to make you start kissing me during the week."

Her eyes narrowed. "Is that an order?"

He was her Master and he could make it a command, could _make_ her tell him.

_It’s a bad idea_ , he told himself. _A very bad idea_. 

She trusted him to not abuse his position and he wanted to be worthy of her trust, her belief in him.

Besides, she’d probably safeword and then, for good measure, injure him one or more very sensitive body parts.

"That would be cheating," he said.

She beamed at him, _beamed_ ; he felt irrationally proud. He’d made Pepper Potts beam.

"Take a guess," she said encouragingly.

"Because I’m a hot superhero with a huge bank account and a cool house?" he ventured; sometimes he felt that was all he really had to offer people. That and his brilliance.

"You _are_ a hot superhero with a huge bank account and a cool house," she sighed, "But that’s not it. Keep thinking." She reapplied her lips to his throat and his brain went a little mushy. Thinking and talking was hard, letting her caress his throat was easy. And it felt good. Very, very good.

"More to the right," he murmured, stroking the skin of her arms, following the thin straps of the tank top, he pushed one down gently and followed the line of her clavicle with his fingertips. She made a delighted noise and continued her ministrations eagerly.

Then he noticed she was rubbing her thighs together slightly and suddenly her attentions didn’t seem quite so altruistic. "Did you come?" he asked.

She shook her head, her lips sliding from tendon to tendon. "You didn’t give me permission to," she reminded him, her tongue sliding up to his ear.

Oh she was good – but he was better. And he’d just climaxed.

"Little one," he said chidingly, easing her mouth away from his skin. "This isn’t going to work. I have something very special planned for us tonight and if you are a very good girl and do exactly as you’re told I may be nice enough to allow you an orgasm. _Later_. Much later."

Her mouth opened momentarily before she snapped it closed. "Of course, Master," she said, the perfect submissive – no sign of frustration or disappointment.

"Besides you need finish washing the car," he reminded her, putting her on her feet and heading for the door. "You get busy with that, little one. I’m going to take a nap. I expect dinner at six."

He deliberately ignored the wet squelch that sounded behind him, even though he was almost certain that it was the exact sound made when a sponge hit an Audi.


	23. Master and little one play hide-and-seek. Sexy hide-and-seek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know the layout for Tony’s house and, when I wrote this way back in 2010, I couldn’t find a floor plan on Google (I can’t believe it failed me!)…obviously this is entirely made up.

The tiny hands that had once reached into his chest gently carded through his hair as Pepper made a little humming noise; he grinned.

He’d had his head cradled in Pepper’s naked lap through three episodes of _Top Gear_ ; Pepper, who had permission to speak as much she liked, had offered surprisingly educated and insightful commentary, opinion and input about the stunts and vehicles. A decade of working for a man obsessed with cars seemed to have rubbed off on her.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss against the smooth skin of her stomach. She hummed a little louder as his hair provided rough friction across her pubic bone.

He scratched at his belly, his t-shirt bunching up his fingers; Pepper caught her breath.

He looked up at her to find her eyes trained on the bit of skin he’d exposed.

"Hey!"

Her eyes snapped back to his.

"More head rubbing," he ordered, stretching his legs out and away from them, the muscles pulling at the soft material of his sweatpants. Her fingers fumbled; he knew she was watching him raptly.

"This episode is almost over," he pointed out, shifting a little, hearing her squeak at the friction, "And I’m about ready to play again." He tipped his head back so he could watch her face light up – her smile a potent mixture of need and anticipation.

"What are the rules of Hide and Seek?" he asked.

She frowned slightly, but answered. "One person hides and the other counts to a certain number and then tries to find the first person."

"Mmmm. And if the person that’s hiding makes noise?"

She smiled at that, starting to catch on. "Then they get found."

"So, the no sound thing is a very important _rule_ isn’t it. Understand?"

She nodded.

"And what happens when they get found?"

"That’s up to the seekee," she said, wriggling slightly.

"Yes, yes it is." he said musingly.

She released a very shaky, excited, "Oh."

"You have to be silent now, sweetheart," he cautioned, "Practice for when we play." He pushed his head down into her – providing pressure and sensation; her fingers tightened in his hair but she didn’t whimper or moan or cry out. Her sense of control amazed him sometimes. Most of the time. _All_ of the time.

The show ended and Tony craned his head back to look at Pepper; her eyes were slightly dreamy, her lips parted.

"You’re going to hide and I’m going to count to twenty. When I’m done, I’m going to come looking for you. Fun, right?"

She smiled, excited anticipation sparkling in her eyes.

"Come here," he instructed, pulling her head down to fit her lips to his, kissing her deeply until his head was swimming. Done, he released her and sat up, then stood on slightly shaky legs. She followed suit and stood, watching him warily.

"I can’t wait to find you, little one," he said, making sure his voice was low and full of dark promises.

Her eyes widened and she compressed her lips together; he was pretty sure he could see her pulse hammering away against the succulent skin of her throat.

He fixed that image in his mind and slid his eyes closed. "One, two, three," he began, "you better run, little one. I’m going to be coming for you very soon."

He continued counting as he heard her bare feet sprinting away from him.

He increased the volume of his voice, until he was shouting out the last five numbers – warning her that he was going to be hunting her down within seconds.

"Twenty!" He popped his eyes open and called to Jarvis quietly.

"Sir?" the AI responded, just as quietly.

"Where is she?"

"That hardly seems sporting."

"Is it too much to ask for you to be a little more submissive?" Tony groused. " _Fine_. Just tell which floor she’s on. I can find her from there."

"This one," Jarvis replied with a martyred air.

_Bedroom_ , Tony thought. _The little vixen – can’t wait to get me naked and into bed_. He stripped, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor - little one would pick them up later - and strode confidently toward his room. His empty room. Pepper wasn’t in the closet, wasn’t under the bed.

He headed to the kitchen next, but she wan't there, either – not under the table or between the subzero and the wall.

He stalked towards the dining room, his senses on alert - listening, sniffing, trying to taste the air. He felt primitive, primal - a man in search of his mate. The room was empty, but he heard footsteps, padding away through the far door - fleeing.

"You’re supposed to stay in one place, little one!" he shouted. "You’re _cheating_."

No response, but he didn’t expect one; she was under an order of silence, after all.

"Jarvis," he prompted.

"No, Sir. I gave you a hint. It wouldn’t be fair to help you further."

" _She's_ cheating," he pointed out.

"I can’t be a party to such things, Sir," the AI sniffed derisively. "You and Miss Potts are going to need to learn how to play well together."

"You are in such trouble," Tony hissed as he headed out of the dining room in Pepper’s wake, "We’ll see how snotty you can be with half of your memory diverted to Dummy."

"As you wish, Sir. May I be permitted to go back to sleep? I do not wish to witness any interactions of a, ahem, _delicate nature_ between you and Miss Potts."

"There won't be _any_ interactions if you _don't help me find her_ ", Tony complained as he moved back through the living room. 

"She’s still on this floor, Sir," Jarvis said with a martyred air, diverting Tony at the top of the stairs down to the workshop. The soft chime followed Tony as he stalked towards the playroom. As he rounded the corner into the hallway, he saw a flash of pale skin.

She was heading towards the gym.

"You can’t run forever," he growled, then broke into a run, sliding around the corner and into the gym. She was on the far side of the boxing ring.

"Little one, I _see you_."

She looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide, and vaulted through the door of the sauna. Tony looped back, determined to cut her off, but she eluded him and the hall was completely empty of his clever submissive.

"You can’t hide forever," he noted out loud, hoping she was in earshot. "You know you want me to find you."

Silence.

He stopped and caught his breath, realized he was hard. Chasing her down was more of a turn-on than he’d thought it would be. He wanted her, needed her - needed to find her and possess her - show her that she belonged to him.

_Think, Stark. Think, think, think_.

The discordant sound of piano keys being depressed randomly filtered through to him. She was in the living room. He pelted down the hall and arrived, breathlessly, to find her gone again. He stared at the twin staircases and debated. There were lots of places to hide in the workshop, but Pepper didn’t really like it down there; the guest rooms on the floor above were the most likely candidates.

"Still on this floor, Sir," Jarvis whispered as Tony put his foot on the bottom stair.

"Jarv, you are the best," Tony whispered back. "And I’m sorry about threatening you earlier."

"I knew you didn’t mean it," the AI said.

He _had_ , but that wasn’t what was important at the moment. "Lock down the workshop," Tony said, "Don’t let her in there until I tell you to."

"Cheating," Jarvis pointed out before chiming off.

"No," Tony muttered to the air. "Necessity." He needed to find Pepper and find her fast. The chase had inflamed him, intoxicated him, _aroused_ him. Quite simply, he needed to fuck her.

He pictured the floor plan in his head, his mind lighting on her office. She’d think she was safe there - after all it was the last place either of them wanted to be on the weekends.

Moving stealthily, ninja-like, his every sense on alert, he approached the door to Pepper’s office and he could hear her breathing, panting - aroused or scared or both.

He kind of hoped for both.

He stepped inside; she was pressed against the wall beside the door, her eyes enormous, chest heaving.

"Found you," he whispered, pacing towards her - eating up the space - staring her down. "I win."

She released a shaky breath and stared at him.

He reached her, his fingers instantly delving between her legs; unsurprisingly, she was soaking wet. "It’s arousing, isn’t it?" he whispered into her ear, his voice low and dirty, "Waiting to be found – not sure what the person that finds you is going to do to you? You’re so wet," he murmured. "You loved having me pursue you - it made you hot and ready for me."

She nodded and ground down onto his fingers. He pinned her wrists above her head with his free hand and kissed her deeply, possessing her. He’d hunted her down - she was his.

She returned the kiss, the nips and bites, took his fingers as they plunged deep and fast within her.

"Fuck," he said, releasing her mouth. "Fuckfuckfuck."

Her teeth nibbled on a tendon in his neck and his knees almost buckled.

"Not fair," he said. "Keep your teeth to yourself, little one." He moved his wet fingers from between her legs to her mouth, pushing them inside, against her tongue, against her teeth. Her eyes widened as she began to lick the moisture eagerly and he was lost – his mouth covered his fingers and her lips and he ate at them both - battling her for every last bead of sweetness.

They were gasping when he removed his fingers from her mouth.

"I’m going to take you now" he announced. "I _need_ to take you now. It’s not going to be soft and it’s not going to be gentle."

She breathed out a gasping sigh.

"No," he growled. He wanted her quiet this time, wanted her swallowing her cries, forced to hear him vocalize for them both."Remember the rules of hide and seek," he said, his hands falling to her tiny waist. "No sounds. You can come, but do it silently."

His hands – strong, calloused, clever – dug into her skin and lifted her, her hands reaching for his shoulders, grasping the heavy, defined muscle, her legs scrambling to encircle his waist. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Guide me inside," he prompted, then one of her capable hands was holding him steady as he pressed her downwards and onto him.

They came together with a jolt, a shock; he glided her body up his rigid, needy flesh, then back down again in a rhythm meant to both compel and satiate; he snapped his hips up to grind his pubic bone against her clit. His cries of pleasure and the wet slapping of their coupling were the only sounds in the room.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders and her eyes were fixed on his, her back bumping against the wall as he moved and molded their flesh to suit his desires. She was mounting towards climax, he knew the signs, and he raced to join her, bracing his feet and pushing up into her with the full force of his powerfully muscled legs.

She stilled for a breathless moment, eyes rolling back in her head, mouth open, then her head was dropping back against the wall and she clamped her lips together and spasmed around him; the rushing pleasure caught him and he threw his head back. He was pretty sure he howled.

Seconds, minutes or hours later, he opened his eyes and realized that his knees were about to give out.

"Feet down," he ordered and she complied seconds before he sank inelegantly to the floor. Pepper knelt beside him instantly, worry lines around her eyes but silent still.

"I’m fine," he said soothingly, reclining onto his back and pulling at her arm. "Just trying to get my brain to work again. Come here. Talk to me."

She draped herself over him, covering the RT and resting her head against his shoulder. She smiled drowsily at him, her lips swollen from his kisses - a deep red mark in the middle of her bottom lip where he’d kissed too hard - it would bruise by morning. He touched it gently.

"I won’t break," she said softly, reading his thoughts - soothing away the first pangs of guilt. "I like when you lose control."

He craned his head and nipped the tip of her nose. "I take it that this scene worked for you."

"Fuck, yes," she said, then snapped her mouth closed. Tony laughed, shaking her body where it draped across his; she kept her eyes lowered and said, small and quiet, "It was intensely arousing, Master."

"No," he said, tugging gently on her hair, "Don’t do that - don’t edit yourself. I like it when you’re really honest and open with me. It’s my favorite thing," his hand brushed down the length of her side. "One of my favorite things," he amended.

"But I’m here to serve and respect you, Master," she pointed out.

"No, you’re here to do what I ask of you," he corrected, tugging her hair more firmly until she met his eyes. "And I just told you, I love it when you give me glimpses into your real feelings - the raw, unedited ones. If I ask you a question and your answer really is ‘fuck yes’ that’s what I want to hear.

"Now, did this little game work for you?"

She smiled widely, joyfully. "Master, it sure as hell worked for me. It worked real fucking well for me."

"That’s quite an endorsement," he grinned.

She giggled. "You may have broken my brain."

The thought of it made him expand with irrational pride and a wild sense of possessiveness; he blamed both on the intensely primal chase and the incredible, reality-altering orgasm.

"What did you like about it?" he asked several seconds later.

" _Everything_."

That didn’t work for him, he wanted details. "Be specific, please."

"Being pursued by you, hunted by you, _taken_ by you," she said a little breathlessly. She started to slide against him, obviously becoming aroused all over again; Lord knows, he was certainly stirring - her description of the experience was most evocative.

"Remembering it is turning you on, isn’t it?" he demanded, scraping a hand slowly across the curve of her ass, squeezing firmly. "Remembering how it felt to hear me coming after you - the pounding anticipation and the thrill of the fear as I tracked you down. Not knowing what would happen when I found you - what I would do to you." He began to drag his nails against the cheeks of her ass. "Not knowing if I’d take your mouth again and leave you wanting."

She moaned, started grinding and he told himself to pull away from her before he lost the last little bit of his mind and devoured her again; he reminded himself that he was almost forty, he had an arc reactor in his chest and he’d just raced around his house and fucked Pepper against a wall: he had to accept that he had limits.

Then she whimpered "Master" and "please" as her fingers danced down his side and he was unable to think of anything but having her again…and the fact that he didn’t have to do all of the work himself.

"You’re going to get on top," he said, stretching out luxuriously. "And you’re going to use that gorgeous body of yours to make us both feel really, really good."

"I love it when you give me orders like that," she said eagerly. She practically leapt on top of him, holding herself above him on her knees, her hand fumbling over his cock, stroking it until it was hard and red and ready for her. Her eyes stayed fixed on his. "I’m yours," she said, and sunk down on him, gasping as he filled her.

He placed a hand on her hip, held her still so she could feel him stretch her, throb inside of her.

"I know that," he said, raking his free hand down the length of her torso and flicking at her clit. "I hunted you down and I found you. Damn right you’re _mine_."

She bit her lip and tried to move; he tightened the hand at her hip and drew the other away from her clit, up to one nipple then the other - circling and pinching, stroking and teasing until she was whining with need.

"Say it again," he said, a harsh pinch followed by a gentle touch impossibly widening her eyes.

"I’m yours," she whispered. "Please, Master, let me move, let me fuck you. Please."

"Mine." He returned his busy fingers to where they were joined, her lips swollen and opened wide around him.

"Yes," she said. "Please let me pleasure you."

His hand fell away from her hip and she began to move, wantonly and wildly, frenzied, slapping movements. It took them longer than it had against the wall when the thrill of the pursuit, the desire to _claim_ had pushed them along with irresistible force. This time it took long minutes of noise and movement, his hands moving restlessly, relentlessly, touching every part of her he could reach, her hands braced on the RT, her fingers glowing blue, casting glimmering reflections on her face, focused and intent on showing and pleasing him.

When her rhythm began to falter and he could feel the pressure rolling from between his legs he pressed against the soaked lips of her sex, tightening her around him, providing her friction at her clit. She came first and he watched raptly as pleasure washed over her face, spinning her up and away - then he joined her, crying out to her to watch, to share, to know that she’d done this for him.

When he was able to wrest his eyes open he saw sweaty golden-red hair and felt lips at his neck.

"That was," he began.

"I know," she whispered into his skin. "Exactly."

"I hope you’ll be able to work with me lying naked and comatose on the floor of your office," he said, his fingers delving into her hair, drawn irresistibly to the silky strands the color of which he could never adequately describe no matter how hard he tried, "Because I’m never going to be able to move again."

"I’ll put a blanket over you," she said soothingly before her tongue did something interesting to the area right below his left ear. "Tell people not to step on you."

"You’re a woman among women," he said, separating curls and waves with his fingers, gently pulling apart tangles.

"You do realize that I created a playroom for us and we haven’t actually used it yet, Master," she noted somewhere from around his clavicle.

"I just gave you two astonishing orgasms and you’re complaining?" he demanded, pushing at her head gently until she abandoned his skin and looked at him.

"Not complaining, just noting," she said, crinkling her nose at him. "Big difference. Huge."

"Don’t I take care of you?"

"Always."

"Then trust me," he said, directing her mouth back to his neck. "The weekend’s not over yet, sweetheart."


	24. Master and little one experiment with suspension bondage

As ordered, Pepper was in the playroom, nude and waiting for her Master when he arrived, deliberately late, at 8:37. She wasn’t standing in her usual pose – head and eyes lowered, hands at her sides – but was staring up at the addition he’d made to their space, her fingers caressing the construct, her hands fondling the spreader bar and the ropes he’d affixed to it, following the line of up it up the ceiling, no doubt imaging her legs hoisted up and what he was going to do to her when they were. She was seemingly transfixed; she was certainly oblivious to his arrival. 

"Little one!" he said silkily, menacingly. He wasn’t angry, nowhere near it - he’d been late on purpose, had wanted her to see his contribution, wanted her to look at it and imagine him employing it on her - but he loved making her jump, adored teasing her. He always had. 

Pepper startled, her shoulders heading towards her ears, her head finally dropping down as he paced towards her, his pace slow and deliberate, predatory.

"Did I really see you looking up and touching things while waiting for me in _my_ playroom?" he asked as he went. "I don’t recall giving you permission to do that."

"I’m very sorry, Master," she said contritely, her fingers pressing against the sides of her naked legs, her shoulders shaking.

"You should be," he said, brushing his fingers through her hair, pressing his skin against hers. "You were doing a naughty thing, weren’t you?"

"Yes," she whispered, trembling.

"You were touching my new toy," he noted, fingers slipping down the side of her neck. "What do you think of it?"

"It’s fascinating," she murmured, shaking harder.

"I knew you’d think so," he laughed, darting close to nip at the curve of her ear. "I can’t wait to see what you'll look like in it."

She froze momentarily, then released a long, shaky breath.

"Still, I expected better of you," he said, pulling her out of the headspace he just knew she was drifting towards. He wanted her present with him for a while longer. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

"Whatever you want," she said quickly, eagerly - the perfect submissive answer.

"Too damn right I will," he agreed, circling so he could look down at the crown of her head, watch her chest move up and down rapidly. "And why will you let me do whatever I want to you?"

"Because I’m yours," she said.

His heart staggered and he admitted that he really liked hearing her say it, wanted to say it right back. He studied her face, tried to assess how big of a line he’d be crossing if he did.

_Pretty damn big_ , he told himself. This was playing. He was the Dom, she was the sub - he didn’t belong to her here. He needed to be in control, needed to be in command.

"That’s right," he crooned, feeling as if he’d stepped back from a precipice. "I’m the one in charge. I’m the one who decides and dictates." He ran a firm finger down the middle of her torso – pressing the skin from the bottom of her throat to her bellybutton. "And I have decided I want you on that table, below that pulley." He stepped forward, pressed against her, spoke directly into her ear. "I’m going to tie you to the table, little one, restrain you so you can’t move, so you’re at my mercy then I’m going to do delightful and dirty things to you.

"I think I can wring three orgasms out of you. I can’t wait to prove that I’m right."

"Oh, _God_."

He grinned into the skin of her cheek, letting her feel his mouth tip up; pressed his naked skin against her naked skin, letting her feel the heat of it. "Master is sufficient. Now get on the table."

Pepper complied instantly, enthusiastically, settling back onto the pad, her head on the small pillow, her expression atavistic. 

He circled the table several times, taking her in, watching her body becoming heavy and languorous with arousal. Then he opened the cabinet and pulled out the cotton ropes and a basket of toys. She made a small needy sound and pressed her back into the table.

Tony popped an eyebrow at her. "A little eager, little one?"

"Yes, sir," she said unashamedly. "Very, very eager."

"Vixen," he said happily. "Arms at your sides, sweetheart, and make sure you’re comfortable - you’re going to be there for a while."

She brightened obscenely as she complied, moving her arms to rest against her flanks, her palms pressing lightly against the outside of her thighs.

He dropped the basket to the floor and knelt beside it; the table was low to the ground – specifically designed to be the perfect height for either of them to sit on their heels or kneel comfortably and work.

Pepper had always been good with details.

"This is cotton rope," he said, brushing the material over her breasts, around and around her nipples. "It’s reportedly the best all around material for bondage." He brought an end to her mouth and she pressed a kiss to it, staring at him fixedly. His throat tightened and his body flushed. He blinked dumbly at her, ready to abandon his plans and bury himself into her warm and willing body. Her left eyebrow twitched and she kissed the rope again, more showily than before.

_Point taken_ , he admitted to himself. _Head back in the game, Stark_.

"My research indicated that it would be difficult for me to procure it. Luckily I’m a billionaire with unlimited resources. Wouldn’t want to miss out on this would we?"

"No, Master. I want to try this very, very much."

He rose up onto his knees and stared down at her - she was beyond ready for this - she needed it, hungered for it. "The things I’m going to do to you," he purred, then he got to work. 

He’d chosen a simple bondage pattern for her torso - parallel lines across her shoulders, chest and stomach - that left plenty of skin free to touch and tease even as it rendered half of her completely immobile; the bottom half was even easier: he guided her feet into the leather cuffs of the spreader bar; the suspension would come later.

He was done within minutes - he’d been practicing, after all. But not on You; he’d learned his lesson about _that_ \- and looked down at his handiwork, at the way the pink cotton highlighted the lovely color of her skin, at the plaits pressing gently against her body, her legs spread wide for him.

"How do you feel?" he asked, tearing his eyes away from the delightful picture she made to focus on her face.

"Wonderful." She looked _delighted_. It still amazed him; still sent his brain spinning; still made him very, very thankful that she allowed him to do this to her.

"Move your fingers and toes," he commanded and watched closely as she complied. "No tingling?" he continued, "No loss of sensation?" He’d done his homework and knew the risks associated with bondage play like this.

"No, Sir."

"You _will_ tell me if any of that happens," he proclaimed.

"Yes, Sir."

He narrowed his eyes at her; she looked like she was being honest - but he was still going to continue to check on her - it was his job, after all.

"Alrighty then," he said as he sat back, relaxing a bit. "Let’s talk." He tipped his head and smiled at her; her answering expression was an adorable mixture of confusion and exasperation. He knew she was thinking about his earlier promise, about the three orgasms.

He liked that she could be impatient, too.

"Tell me what you think of these," he prompted, brushing a kiss across the arch of her eyebrows and gently touching her eyelashes, her eyelids. "And use _lots_ of adjectives."

The eyes in question widened slightly and she looked…unsure. It was startling and unexpected. Pepper was always self-assured and composed. 

It appeared he’d found a limit to push.

"Go ahead," he said encouragingly. "I want to hear your thoughts."

"You want me to describe my eyes?"

"I want you to describe your eyes. I’m _telling_ you to describe your eyes."

"Blue," she said, her response immediate even though her voice was hesitant. "Regular-shaped, ordinary."

"Little one," he tutted, "How is it that you can be so wrong? Blue, yes. Regular-shaped, I guess - whatever that means. Ordinary, hardly. I’d say they’re bright and beautiful. Hard to read because you’re very good at hiding what you’re really thinking."

She sparkled a bit at _that_.

"Fixed on me most of the time." 

That earned him an eyebrow twitch.

"And they get very, very wide when I’m inside of you and, when I get the rhythm _just right_ they roll all the way back then slide closed. I love watching them do that, sweetheart."

She exhaled slowly, her skin flushing pinkly. 

"Hardly ordinary. Nose next." He kissed the tip of it then leaned back and looked at her expectantly. 

"Not too big, not too small. A little wide, maybe. Perfectly serviceable."

He stared at her appraisingly. "Alright, I’ll allow that one. Lips."

"Pinkish, thin…"

"Delicious, delightful. Gorgeous even when they’re drawn back in a snarl."

"With all due respect, Sir, I never snarl."

"Yes, you do," he grinned, tracing the line of her lips, sliding his finger – just the tip – between them. She nibbled at his skin until he pulled away. "It’s extraordinarily sexy. I’ve always thought so. Hair." 

"Red and difficult to manage."

"Reddish-gold and soft," he petted it slowly. "I’ve always loved your hair, little one – always wondered what it would feel like." He blinked and dropped his hand to her neck. "Continue."

"I like my neck," she said with the air of someone sharing a shameful secret. "I think it’s quite nice. Willowy even – can a neck be called willowy?"

"Yours can." He bent down to nuzzle and nip at it; she whimpered and pushed her skin closer. 

Finally, when she’d provided him with enough delightful noises, he removed his mouth and began gently cupping and caressing her breasts; he’d left them free – the ropes directly above and below the delicate swells. "Tell me about these, little one."

"Adequate," she said softly. "Small."

"And?" He deepened his caresses, sliding his index finger in tight circles around one very interested nipple.

"Well, they stay out of the way, which is good," she continued weakly. "And I like that I don’t always have to wear a bra…."

"I like that, too."

She frowned slightly. "But, overall, they’re just…."

"Small," he finished. "Is that really all you think of them?"

She nodded sharply, obviously tiring of the game.

"Would you like to hear my thoughts?"

"Of course," she said dutifully, but he was pretty sure she didn’t mean it.

"They’re perfect," he said gently, using his whole hand to caress her, "Incredibly soft yet perky, completely fun to play with. And this," he returned his fingers to her left nipple, "Never fails to fascinate me. How it rises to meet me, how it tastes." He leaned over and sucked it gently into his mouth, holding it in warm wetness as it grew against his tongue. "See," he said as he released it. "It’s freaking amazing."

She was staring at him, an odd, indefinable light in her eyes.

"You’re going to watch the other one," he ordered, fumbling for the small vibe. He flicked it on and brought it to her right nipple, pressing it gently against the soft peak - watching with her as it hardened and pebbled. "Beautiful," he said, pulling the toy away and replacing it with his eager mouth.

She mewled and tried to writhe, her legs slid and the spreader bar clanked against the table.

He released her skin and located the tube of female arousal gel. The name was a bit off-putting but the results were anything but. He applied the sticky fluid to Pepper’s nipples and she mewled louder, pulling at the restraints as she tried to move, tried to gain more touch, more sensation.

He used his mouth on her again, the tingling from the gel doing weird things to his mouth even as he pleasured her. He drifted a hand down between her legs to where she was wet and ready for him. His fingers found her clit unerringly and he stroked her to climax as he mouthed her breasts.

"One," he said, kissing her gently and stroking her hair as her breathing evened out and her eyes fluttered open. "Mainly driven by the breasts you think are too small."

She smiled blissfully at him.

"Now. Arms."

"Long. Strong. Toned."

"Amazing arms," he agreed, stroking her fingers, they twitched back. "Fingers."

"Capable."

"Gifted," he countered. "Dexterous. Able to handle anything with skill." He intertwined the fingers of his left hand in hers. "Devastatingly effective when applied to certain body parts."

She smiled. "Typing and texting are like biceps curls for fingers."

He wriggled his eyebrows. "Thank God for that. How are they? Good? Not falling asleep."

"Not falling asleep," she confirmed, then took a deep breath as he placed his palm flat against the ropes stretched across her stomach. "Flat," she volunteered. "Thank God for good genes and a schedule that doesn’t leave much time to eat."

"You can eat whenever you want," he countered. "And I’d say perfect with the best belly button ever."

She smiled, then her lips fell open and her head tipped back as his fingers slid down between her legs again, stroking and sliding wetly.

"And this?" he asked softly. 

She shook her head sharply. "I don’t know, pink, feels good when it’s touched or licked or breached. A pussy is a pussy."

"Little one," he sighed, shaking his head and moving into position, bringing his mouth close to engorged skin. "Try hot and wet and tight, all astonishingly so. Sweet, like honey and vanilla and something that belongs only to you." He took a long, languorous lick, then another. "I could spend hours between your legs, _days_."

Pepper’s hips were unrestrained - he was going to lift them at some point - and she canted them up sharply, giving him more of the taste he loved, giving her more of the sensation she craved. His cock had started stirring when he’d seen her hands caressing the suspension harness longingly, had been half-hard since she first came - then his mouth encased her sex and he was rampant, raging, his flesh demanding to be touched, pleased, satisfied.

Ruthlessly, Tony tamped down the urge - ignored it, controlled it.

Pepper was riding his mouth, pushing and molding her flesh against him - commanding the act despite lying in bondage right until Tony slipped two fingers into her and twisted up unerringly, finding the bundle of nerves that had her shattered against his tongue and teeth and lips. She froze, hips pistoned up, legs straining, feet pushing against the bar, and wailed. Then she went limp and panting, her eyelids fluttering down over the whites of her eyes.

"Two," Tony whispered into her soaked skin.

Her rapid breathing was her only response.

"How many climaxes have I given you, little one?" he demanded.

She hummed.

"Little one," he said more urgently, pinching the inside of her thigh lightly; he didn’t want her floating away from him so soon. " _How many_?"

"Two," she said, her voice dreamy and low.

"And how many did I promise you?"

"Three."

"Hmm," he said, "One more to go." He tipped his head back, "And I still need to use _that_."

"Yes, please," she said, her gaze following his. " _Please_."

"Soon," he said, kissing her clit gently. "First we need to finish our little inventory. Feet."

She smiled; Pepper loved shoes, loved feet. "Small, fit into designer shoes, very well taken care of."

"Don’t forget your toes," he continued. "I like it best when you wear red nail polish and I can see your toes peeking out. Before I could stare at them for hours - now I think of them as a private message to me - reminding me of what only I get to see."

She wriggled her toes playfully and he pinched at them lightly, stroked the soles. "I loved caring for your feet," he said ruminatively. "Loved doing that for you." 

"Master," she whispered.

He flicked his eyes to hers and smiled, slid his hands up the length of her legs. "These," he said, not allowing her to describe them first, "Are impossibly long and sleek and ridiculously unbelievable in heels. These are unearthly legs, sweetheart."

"I love to wrap them around you," she shared; the comment earned her a leer and a kiss to the closest knee.

"Now, let’s see how they look up in the air," Tony said, standing and slowly pulling on the rope, raising her legs until they were angled up and away from her body - leaving her more open, vulnerable and exposed than she’d ever been. Tony secured the rope and glanced down at her. She was enraptured.

"You okay?"

"Yes, Master. Thank you." She took a deep breath and stared at her legs, at the position he’d pulled her into.

Tony checked her: her weight was balanced on her torso and hips and her fingers and toes were all pink and perfect and responsive.

"One last thing I want to talk about," he said, picking through the basket and taking out lube and a small vibrator, one with a very wide base. Pepper’s eyes widened at the sight of it; she knew that it only had one purpose.

"This little, delicate hole," Tony said swiping dry fingers over her anus. "Never really thought much about it - never really wanted to explore it. But then you came along," he opened the bottle of lubricant and squirted a goodly amount on his fingers, "And holy fuck - I can’t stop thinking about how it felt to be inside you here." He carefully slid a finger in, stretching and probing gently; preparing, "How tight and hot and forbidden it felt. And you love it, don’t you?"

She tried to push into his fingers but she was suspended, floating in space, unable to do anything more than take what he chose to give her. "I do love it," she finally ground out, unable to use her body to communicate. "Please give me more."

"Or what?"

"I don’t understand."

"What happens if I don’t give you more? What happens if I use one finger on you and nothing else? What can you do, baby? You’re tied down and strung up and completely at my mercy. I could do this to you for hours and you wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing."

Tony let the image wash over her, let her feel her complete helplessness, his utter command of the situation and her body - let her sit with it for long moments, seconds sliding into a minute then two. Her eyes were wide and pleading, her body rigid.

"You’re a kind, Master," she said finally, her voice drawn tight and hard. "Please."

The last please was so soft, so plaintive that Tony caved instantly. As sexy and erotic as the play was, watching her climax and holding her after was even better; he wanted to please her, wanted her happy and satiated; wanted to give her what she needed; always.

Besides, he really loved seeing her come for him - loved knowing that he’d been able to push her body into such pleasure and abandon.

"Since you asked so nicely," he said, adding another finger, then a third, spreading and readying her. She made indescribable noises that escalated in pitch and volume when he removed his fingers and replaced them with the toy.

Then he turned it on.

Pepper’s response was electrifying: her body flushed, her eyes rolled back and she grunted out a sound that was unlike anything Tony had ever heard. He watched her in stunned amazement for several seconds before her eyes popped open and pinioned him.

He focused on the task at hand, sliding the fingers of his clean hand inside her, the thumb busy at her clit, determined to overload her with sensation, determined to send her into the fucking stratosphere.

She was only able to endure a few minutes of such attentions before she was screaming and shuddering, the ropes dragging against the table, the suspension rattling wildly as she shattered apart.

It was the most amazing thing Tony Stark had ever seen.

_Holy fuck_ , he thought. _Holy fuck, Potts_.

But those were his thoughts, what he had to say was something much different.

"Three," he said triumphantly, carefully lowering her legs again. He’d been trepidatious about the suspension bondage and didn’t want to keep her in it longer than strictly necessary.

Besides, his own arousal could no longer be ignored. Kneeling beside the table he slid his cock between two of the ropes and pressed down, dragging the sensitized skin of his cock against the sweat-slick skin of her stomach, against the soft bonds. It was good, very good - twisted and different. He flicked his gaze to her face - her slowly focusing eyes, the parted lips, the flushed cheeks - and rutted harder.

"Is it good?" she asked, voice ragged and wrecked.

"Yes," he said, thrusting erratically, the myriad of sensations - his fingers sticky with her, cotton dragging, sweaty skin, his own calloused palm, her devouring gaze - overwhelming his system, taxing and pushing him into a hard, sharp climax. He came all over the ropes and her skin and his hand, then fell back on his ass, his mouth stretched into an "o," his body heavy and satiated.

He blinked at her as her face swam in and out of focus.

"You okay?" she asked.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. "I’m fantastic. You?"

She wriggled a bit, reminding him that she was tied the fuck to a coffee table, but said, "I’m fantastic, too."

"And tied up," he said, moving quickly to rectify the situation. He wanted her free, wanted her to touch him, wanted her close. 

In the end, he had to use the EMT scissors to cut the rope - he had no patience for fumbling with knots - and together he and Pepper released her ankles from the spreader bar. She rolled off the table and they ended up lazily combined on the floor, her lips and fingers roaming his face.

"Fingers and toes all good?"

"All of me is all good," she answered into the point of his chin; she brushed her toes against his calves and fluttered her fingers against his lips to underscore her statement. "That was spectacular, Master. Thank you again."

"Did you enjoy all of it, little one? I wasn’t so sure there at parts."

"It was hard to talk about my body - harder to hear you talk about what you liked about it. I’ve never done that before." She had moved her lips to the arches of his cheekbone.

He maneuvered her head back gently, kissed the tip of her nose, looked deeply into her eyes. "You have a spectacular body, sweetheart - world- _fucking_ -class - but it’s not just that, you know. You’re brilliant and funny and kind and nice, too. You’ve put up with me for a decade, smooth things over for me, ease my way…."

She grinned, naughty and young.

"Dirty girl," he said affectionately. "That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m trying to be sincere here and it’s not easy – not something I’m a natural at. Serious face, please, sweetheart."

Her eyes widened slightly, then softened, her gaze open and affectionate. "Sorry, Master," she whispered.

"Better. You make things easy for me, take care of me, cheer me up…." He dwindled, smiled goofily at her. "You get the idea, right? I like playing, I _really_ like playing, but this part is good, too." 

The smile she gave him was full of pride and not a little bit of amazement.

"I said something right again, didn’t I?"

She nodded avidly.

_She likes it when I let her know it’s not just about the sex_ , he realized. It was all so simple once he got it.

"Can I kiss you, Master?"

"Anytime," he grinned. "Anytime."


	25. Pepper wakes up Tony

"Up and at 'em, tiger." The tone was soft, the pressure against his mouth softer still. Around the edges of consciousness he could smell espresso and bagel and Pepper's own fragrant, gentle self.

_Dream_ , he decided, burrowing himself deeper into the mattress. Pepper had never brought him breakfast in bed, never leaned over to kiss and rouse him gently.

Fingers trailed down his face. "Tony, I know you were on a mission last night, but it's time to wake up."

A persistent, vivid dream.

"I mean it, sweetheart: you have a meeting in ninety minutes."

That was more like it. Tony opened one bleary eye and looked up. Pepper was really there, sitting on the edge of his bed, a fond look on her face.

"Howlonbeehere?" he slurred, trying to get his mouth working - his brain working.

Pepper shook her head slightly. "Pardon."

Pepper Potts, always the epitome of politeness.

Tony sat up and shook his head, too - vigorously - and rubbed at his eyes, stretched and put all of his focus and willpower into waking up; he ignored the twinges of muscles and skin pushed to their limits. Pepper on his bed on a weekday - he was ninety percent sure it was a weekday - was an unprecedented event and he wanted to be lucid for it. "How long have you been here?" he tried again.

"Not long," she said.

"Miss Potts has been watching you sleep for the last ten minutes," Jarvis countered cheerfully.

"Zip it," she said, glaring at the ceiling, delightful pink bleeding across her face.

"Potts, you stalker," Tony grinned, suddenly feeling very light, very young. "I never knew you liked to watch. You can do it anytime you know...except during my weekends - then you need to participate."

She brought her gaze back to his. "I was trying to assess the extent of the damage you did to yourself."

There hadn't been any damage, only a forty year old body being treated like it was twenty; he wasn't going to let her know that, though. Not without her inspecting him more intimately. "Wanna examine me?"

"Absolutely not," she said briskly, stretching away from him slightly to retrieve a small white cup from his bedside stand. He hadn't dreamed the espresso smell either. "You seem just fine."

"But don't you want to make sure?" he asked, fully aware that he was almost bordering on coquettish, accepting the tiny cup and knocking it back. The drink burned its way down his throat, the caffeine hitting his system.

"I already did," she said wickedly, taking the cup away and pushing a plate into his empty hands. It really was a bagel. With veggie cream cheese.

"And I slept through it?" he demanded around a mouthful of carbs and fatty, thick cheese.

"Like a baby," she smirked. "Make sure you eat all of that, you need more in your stomach than Red Bull and vitamins."

He ignored her jibe about his eating habits, decided to not tell her about the pizza he'd ordered upon arriving home, and focused on the more relevant issue. "Jarvis, tell me you have video of Miss Potts examining me while I slept."

"Already sent to your email, Sir."

"You're a good man, Jarvis Stark."

Pepper shook her head indulgently, scoffing and watching him eat, almost forcing the food down his throat with the power of her gaze.

Tony chewed meditatively, drinking her in. She was wearing a tight white pantsuit he was pretty sure he'd never seen before and her hair was down around her shoulders - she had dark circles under her eyes and her forehead was slightly furrowed. She was completely gorgeous. "You were worried about me," he finally realized - the statement following directly after the thought.

"I always worry about you," she said, leaning forward to deliver a nipping kiss to the point of his jaw. "Now, finish up and get in the shower. I'm going to pick out your outfit for the day."

He grabbed her wrist, arresting her movement, keeping her close. He wanted to tell her not to worry, wanted to tell her he didn't like the strain on her face or the tension in her shoulders. But he was Tony Stark and he didn't say things like that.

"I like how you wake me up," he said instead, letting go of her wrist so he could follow the bones of her hand with one careful finger. "Jarvis puts the lights on operating room mode and blares hip-hop until I get up."

"Or until you threaten me, Sir," Jarvis chimed in.

"We've discussed this issue, Jarvis," Tony said, grinning at Pepper. "And I've decided that from here on out Miss Potts is the only person who gets to wake me up."

"Only if you actually _get up_ ," she said. "Happy'll be here in an hour."

"An hour," he scoffed, pushing the plate into the middle of the bed and _really_ reaching for her.

She neatly intercepted his grabby hands. "Your hair alone takes forty minutes."

"Twenty-five tops," he said indignantly. "And how long does yours take?" His fingers tangled delicately with a soft curl.

"Ten minutes unless I have a formal engagement."

His finger slid from her hair and he goggled at her. It was like she had her own superpower - the ability to make her hair look like _that_ in no time. It was a truly astounding revelation. "You're lying."

"Nope," she said, standing and looking pointedly at him. "Not everyone needs the insane amount of personal grooming time and one-on-one bonding with their mirror that you do."

"It's like looking at art," he yelled after her as she glided into his closet. "It's meant to be appreciated."

She made a carrying, derisive sound. "Get out of bed, Mona Lisa."

He sighed and did as ordered. Tugging at his sweatpants with one hand and scratching his bare chest with the other, he padded into the closet and watched as Pepper efficiently assembled an outfit for him.

"Why aren't you in the shower?" she asked. She pulled out a very severe, very black suit.

"Because I'm talking to you. Seriously Pep, a black suit _and_ a vest _and_ the new Prada shoes? Am I having lunch with the Pope?"

"No, you're having lunch with the Vice President."

"Of what?"

" _The United States of America_."

He made a face.

"I'll be there, too."

"Better."

She smiled warmly and brushed past him and began laying the suit out on the bed. "But first you're meeting with the reporter from _Forbes_ to address your surprise announcement that SI is going to buy Burger King…."

"I was hungry and wanted to go to Burger King," he pointed out testily. "I was _misquoted_."

"And now you need to make sure you're quoted correctly," she retorted, starting to match ties and socks and watches to the suit. "And then you're going to meet with representatives from the University of California to go over their science curriculum and then…."

He held up a hand. "This is all before lunch?"

"The anniversary is a week away," she said settling on a dark green tie and a Rolex. She didn't bother to elaborate on which anniversary exactly. They were both acutely aware of it. "And PR thinks you need to be _seen_."

"What? Why?"

"So people - customers, the Board, your employees, the public - think that you're both sane and competent."

Tony blinked stupidly at her. "But I _am_ sane and competent."

She tipped her head and stared at him, her eyes liquid and soulful. "You fly around in a metal suit."

"Saving people, taking care of business, fighting for truth and justice and the American way," he squeaked.

"Tony," she said, stepping forward and kissing him again. "You never have to prove anything to me, but no one knows you as well as I do."

"True…."

"And no one ever will," she said definitively. "Everybody else just goes on appearances and, truthfully, sometimes you act more than a little suicidal."

" _Superhero_ , Potts," he said witheringly. "At least I'm not like the Batman. That guy is bat shit nuts." He chuckled. "See what I did there? Bat shit and he's the Batman?"

"Yes, very witty, Tony, but I don't care about other superheroes, I care about you and this company and this is important for the future of both of you," she said sternly.

He made sure to look suitably chastised while stealing another quick kiss.

"Now, you have a very busy day and you need to get ready. Please go." She pushed him gently towards the bathroom; he resisted, choosing to launch a full-scale assault on her resolve instead, pressing against her closely, bending her back slightly over her arm; he was succeeding, too - right up until her BlackBerry chimed obnoxiously.

She conjured it out of some hidden pocket - Lord only knew from where, her suit was marvelously tight - and frowned at it. "You really need to get moving, PR just added another photo op to the schedule." Her tone was deceptively neutral. Tony knew full well that Pepper did not like it when people mucked with his schedule at the last minute.

He idly wondered if she'd record her abrading the hapless PR hack that had made the fatal error.

He knew it would be excruciatingly hot.

"Shower," she said, her fingers flying across the miniature keyboard.

"Only if you join me."

She gazed up at him from beneath her lashes. "I'll make a deal with you: get ready before Happy arrives and I'll make out with you until you need to go."

He brightened perceptively. This was also unprecedented: actual weekday making out, not just stolen, drugging kisses foisted on her when she was least expecting it. "Do I get to…?" He moved his hands suggestively.

"Above the waist," she said briskly, her shining eyes at odds with the tone. "And that's my final offer." Her tone brooked no argument and he decided that a tactical retreat followed by a renewed assault once her terms had been met was the best plan of action.

He started tugging at his clothes, backing towards the bathroom. "How long do I have?"

"Forty-eight minutes."

"I'll be ready in twenty and you're going to totally rethink that above the waist thing."

Her laugh followed him into the shower - bright and cheerful, not mocking, at all. He loved that she was able to admit that she was putty in his hands.

Jarvis had started the water for him, adjusted it to exactly the right temperature; it shot at him from a dozen angles, easing the soreness from the mission, allowing his mind to drift towards pleasant thoughts, thoughts like Pepper at his bedside, warm and sweet and close - kissing him awake on a Thursday. Pepper spread out on his bed as he slowly peeled her white suit away from her body, taking his time with her, convincing her how important below the waist touching really was.

His cock started to take notice of his thoughts, joined in on the party. His hand drifted down, tugged experimentally. It felt good, really good, better than ever before.

_Come here_ , the Pepper in his head said, _need you, want you, baby_. Her foot sliding down over his calf flirtatiously, her eyes fixed on his, her face glowing and incandescent. His hand began to speed up, the calluses and nicks on his hands catching on the flesh, layering sensation on sensation.

_Got you_ , she was laughing, her legs tightening around him, drawing him in, _got you, honey, baby, gorgeous_. Her voice lilting, sliding around the endearments.

His hand was blurring, the water pounding, his vision whiting out, leaving behind touch, smell, sound - skin on skin - his skin, her skin…he could taste her, smell her, hear her, _feel her_ \- she was ingrained in his sense memory right along with Christmas trees and motor oil and his father's cologne and his mother's shampoo.

They were moving together, sliding and undulating, stroking one another higher, her cries mixed with giggles - purely joyous and careless sounds that flooded him, his climax rolling up from his toes, astonishing in its intensity and speed.

His wrist began twisting, his palm roughly stoking at the head of his cock, just the head - he was close, very, very close. _Tony_ , she said, her eyes rolling back, eyelids fluttering down. _Tonytonytonytony_. There, in his head, she was fully present, fully Pepper.

That thought, that simple thought, triggered a cascading series of chemical reactions and ripped him apart, sent him barreling into his climax. He was vaguely aware of spilling over his right hand while his left slapped the tile, of his legs trembling as his hips pistoned helplessly, rutting against water and air.

"Sonofabitch," he said finally. His head was spinning and his body shaking. It'd been a long time since he'd jerked off in the shower, over a week since he'd touched himself at all; and he'd never come to such a tame fantasy.

Just him. Just Pepper. No bells or whistles or ropes or toys.

He shook his head and water sprayed out, the droplets diffusing against the glass.

His body was still heaving, his heart still pounding and he was _late_. He scrubbed himself down, focusing on getting done, getting ready, ignoring any greater implications to the fantasy he'd just climaxed to. It was a fantasy, nothing more; wholly unrelated to reality.

He _liked_ the bells and whistles, the toys and ropes. Craved them just as much as she did.

He'd just about convinced himself of it by the time he was clean. He killed the water and climbed out, toweling himself off vigorously.

"Jarvis, time?" he demanded as peered into the mirror.

"8:22, Sir."

He realized that he had no clue what time Pepper had awoken him, what time Happy was due to arrive.

He really needed to start paying better attention.

"How long before Happy is supposed to get here?"

"Thirty-eight minutes."

If Pepper could do her hair in ten minutes, then he could do his in eight (he had much less, after all) and be dressed in another two, which left twenty-eight minutes for quality time with Pepper.

In the end, his hair took fifteen minutes and a little more product than usual. _Can't look like a crazy person_ , he reminded himself, assuaging any uncertainty about the length of time his personal grooming took. _Gotta look sane and competent and no one can do that with unruly hair_.

Dressing took closer to ten minutes. His hands were shaking slightly so the buttons and the tie and the shoelaces took some work and he found his attention drifting to the bed and the phantom of a beautiful woman sprawled across it, glowing and calling him by name.

When Tony - polished and put together, every inch a titan of industry - finally strode his way into the living room, Pepper was perched on the edge of the couch, laptop open and on her legs and a smirk on her lips.

"Twenty minutes?" she asked mockingly.

"I have to look _good_ ," he said, moving the laptop and wrapping his arms around her so he could bury his face in her hair. It smelled like watermelon.

"Mission accomplished," she said into the side of his neck before she began mouthing against it, pressing, wet and open mouthed kisses above his starched collar. Tony buried his face into her hair, letting the familiar smell of her wash over him.

The experience in the shower was niggling at him, loosening his tongue, making him want to say… _something_. "Potts?"

"Mmmm?"

"I wanna talk to you."

She started working on his ear. "We have ten minutes for this. We can talk later."

"Thirteen and I want to talk now," he said firmly. She jolted back and he realized he had spoken in his Master voice. "I mean, it's important."

She slid away from him slightly. Far enough back to see his face, close enough to keep her arms around him.

"Okay," she said hesitantly.

And he didn't know what to say - too much was crowding in and they only had twelve minutes for this discussion. "I want this weekend to be a Lady Ember weekend," he said finally.

"Ton-."

"I know I have a thousand things to do as part of the 2009 version of the Tony Isn't Suffering From PTSD Tour but I don't care. I'll do them Friday or Sunday night. I'll do them next week - I want twenty-four hours alone with you. Can you make that happen?"

She looked at him analytically, turning him inside out with her gaze. No doubt she was trying to decide if he was being obstinate and avoidant, or honest about what he needed. She found the answer she was seeking and nodded. "I'll make it happen. Now come here."

"One more thing."

She huffed, querulously. "Really, Tony? I can't believe you're wasting quality fondling time."

"Fondl-? You said nothing below the waist."

She raised an eyebrow and stared him down. His head was buzzing again, something immense at the edges - something so immense it was terrifying and thrilling and…something he couldn't quite grasp, not with nine minutes left before Happy would arrive and whisk him away.

His mind grasped onto something simple, something easy.

"Okay, here it is. I like you, Potts ," he said, giving the words the weight of a confession; her lips twitched. "And not just because you take care of me or because of what we do to each other on the weekends - but because of who you are. I _really_ like you.

"I just thought you should know that."

She stopped fighting the smile that had been tugging at the corners of her mouth. "That's good, Tony. Because I really like you, too."

"Good," he said. "Good. That's good." Then he was kissing her, bending and pressing her back against the couch, holding onto her tightly, certain that she would protect him from whatever wanted to get at him - even if it was himself.

"Mr. Stark, Miss Potts, Mr. Hogan has arrived," Jarvis said, effectively pouring ice water on them just as Tony was sliding himself on top of Pepper.

"He's early," Pepper groaned, pulling herself out from under Tony to slide to the opposite end of the couch. She was flushed, her hair tangled, her blouse gaping open. Tony wondered if he looked just as debauched.

"Uhm," he said, pointing at her shirt. She blushed crimson and hastily buttoned herself up. "Me?"

"You're fine," she said running her fingers through her hair and dragging her computer onto her lap; he noticed proudly that her knees were shaking. "I can control myself a little better."

"Sure you can," he said giddily just as Happy strode in, as cheerful and oblivious as ever.

"Morning, Boss, Pepper. Did you see the game last night? Watta bunch a idiots."

"Yeah," Tony said, fumbling to his feet and completely unsure which game Happy was referring to. "Idiots."

"I mean they were ahead then they lost it in the ninth inning. Whata they get paid for?"

Baseball then. The Dodgers. They'd lost again. Tony was pretty sure he'd had money on that game.

"I don't know," Tony said still getting his bearings as he trailed after Happy.

"My point exactly," the driver said.

"I'll see you at lunch," Pepper called out after them.

Tony turned back to her and gifted her with an incendiary smile. "I'll be counting the seconds." Happy's gait didn't even falter - he was used to Tony flirting with Pepper.

But Pepper knew he really meant it. " _Behave_ , Mr. Stark."

Tony wriggled his eyebrows at her and whirled away; Happy was out of the door and he was almost in the foyer when the text message arrived.

He stopped and flicked a glance towards her - she was sitting demurely, staring assiduously at the screen of her laptop - and opened the envelope.

_Next time, try angling the lower left jet up. It's incredible_.

He practically swallowed his tongue. She'd _knew_ what he'd done in the shower - _she'd_ done it in his shower. He turned towards her, demanding, "Potts?"

She turned her glowing face up at him and very slowly, very purposely, very sexily, arched one perfect golden-red eyebrow at him.

He shook his head slowly, enticed and ensorcelled by this woman - by her ability to continually surprise and confound him. "That is the hottest thing ever."

"You really are vanilla," she observed before waving her hands at him. "Now go, before you're late."

Tony turned and walked to the door, his legs heavy and his head swimming with images of Pepper in his shower, hand braced against the wall as the water pulsed up against her, bucking against the pulsating stream, mewling and crying out until….

"Pepper," he said helplessly, stopping and readying to turn back towards her, even though he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do if he did. Snatching her up in his arms and telling her she was the coolest person he knew would be a start.

"Keep moving, Stark," she said, her voice threatening.

He fumbled at the keys of his phone, sending a message as he climbed into the car.

_I really, really, REALLY like you, Potts_.

He knew she'd understand.


	26. Lady Ember and Anthony at the office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Roleplay of sexual harassment in the workplace, and pegging (anal penetration of a male character by a dildo).

"Tell me you're joking," Tony said again, continuing on with his laps around the living room. He'd been happily watching TV and contemplating what Pepper - _Lady Ember_ \- had dreamed up for him when Jarvis had delivered the news.

"No, Sir. Those were Miss Potts' instructions. You are to meet her at your office promptly at noon for an important meeting," Jarvis intoned in the long-suffering tone that Tony had programmed him to use when people were being particularly difficult and that the AI only ever used on Tony himself.

"You heard her wrong."

"I did not." The computer sounded affronted and hurt in equal measure.

"Call her. _Now_ ," Tony persisted, completely unwilling to accept what he was being told.

There was a pregnant pause that did nothing for Tony's apprehension before Jarvis responded. "Miss Potts has blocked all calls from you."

"You're a supercomputer for God's sake, override the damn block."

The pause that followed unspooled into seconds before Jarvis said, very firmly, "Miss Potts was very clear in her wishes and I must note that is currently eleven o'clock. Might I recommend that you begin to prepare yourself for your meeting?"

"I have a few recommendations for _you_ ," Tony muttered, giving into his dire fate and shuffling off to his room. He'd trusted that Pepper would be able to clear their schedule, that she'd be able to make their - _her_ \- weekend happen. He'd been wrong.

It seemed that even the Incredible Miss Potts couldn't overcome the Evil PR Machine. He'd go to the office because Pepper wanted him to and it was important to his dad's company, but he wasn't going to be _gracious_ about it.

He glared at the clothes in his closet and reached for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Sir."

His shoulders sank slightly. "What?"

"You're to wear a suit."

"I should be naked," he pointed out peevishly. "I should be naked and Pepper should be perpetrating filthy acts upon my person. If I have to go to a stupid meeting on Saturday then I'm going to be comfortable." He pulled out the clothes and began to change into them. Defiantly.

"Sir," Jarvis said as Tony was trying to figure out if he was going to even bother combing his hair. "Miss Potts has a message for you

"You talked to her?" Tony demanded as he started to style his hair; there was making a point and there was looking stupid – and Tony didn't like looking stupid. Sober.

"She instructed me to call her if you appeared reluctant or intransigent. As you are most assuredly both, I called her."

"If I appeared _intransigent_? What does that even mean?" Tony idly thought about carting a bottle of tequila with him to SI and getting spectacularly drunk in whatever meeting PR had cooked up for him. _That_ would make a very clear point.

It would also piss Pepper off.

No tequila then.

"A refusal to compromise," Jarvis said. "And the message from Miss Potts is this: 'For once in your life do as you're told, Anthony.'"

Tony froze. "She called me Anthony?"

"She did, Sir."

Relief poured through him. Relief and unrepentant lust and abiding affection.

She had been able to clear the weekend and they were probably, most likely, _hopefully_ going to have dirty, kinky sex in his office.

Worked for him.

Tony lost ten minutes on the PCH to construction and four in the lobby of the executive office building of SI to the surprised fawning of the security guards - Jack and Nick according to their name tags - but he was still three minutes early as he stepped into his office.

Pepper was sitting behind his desk, blessedly alone. From what he could see, she was seemingly poured into a navy dress; her hair was up, eyes sharp, fingers etching slow circles on the lacquered wood. His eyes bounced between her face and the desk - devoid of his knick-knacks and models. He briefly wondered where'd she put them then decided he didn't really care.

"Good afternoon, Anthony."

"Good afternoon, Lady Ember," he replied.

She inhaled sharply. "I would prefer to be called Miss Potts here."

Tony liked that, _really_ liked that. Loved it even. It dismantled a barrier between him and Pepper.

"Of course, Miss Potts" he said, suppressing a giddy grin. "Good afternoon, Miss Potts. How are you, Miss Potts?"

She gave him a quelling look and ordered him closer, watching greedily as he crossed the expanse of carpet, passing the bar, her workstation and the couch. He came to a halt at the edge of his desk and looked at her expectantly, waiting for direction.

"Give me our safewords."

"Board meeting means stop, Malibu means slow down and hot rod means more or speed up," he parroted dutifully while bouncing up on his toes. "I especially like hot rod,"

"I'm aware," she said wryly. "I appreciate you coming in on a Saturday, Anthony. I need you to type this memo."

He looked at her stupidly as she patted a piece of paper sitting next to the computer covered in her neat, precise handwriting. She had made him do work during her first weekend as Lady Ember - maybe she meant for him to do the same thing again.

"Okay," he said uncertainly, clamping down on any desire to show dismay or disappointment. She was in charge, she made the choices.

She vacated the chair and stood slightly to the side of it, waiting expectantly. Tony crossed behind the desk and settled into the chair.

"Go ahead," she prompted, moving to stand behind him. Every sense on alert, painfully aware of her proximity, Tony picked up the piece of paper - the memo seemed to be about introducing more low-fat and vegetarian options into the cafeteria's menu.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, stepping closer to his back.

"No, Ma'am," he said brightly, starting to hunt and peck at the keyboard. There was no way this was _real_ work.

Four words in, she pounced - leaning forward to whisper directly into his ear. "I know you don't like it when I do this, but I just had to tell you how incredibly _good_ you look today, Anthony."

"You, too," he smiled, craning his head so he look at her from beneath his eyelashes. It was a look he'd been using with devastatingly positive results since he was six.

She frowned slightly at him. "That's quite a change from your usual response, Anthony. Usually you protest when I tell you that."

He stared at her, processing – finally realizing after several seconds of concerted effort that she wanted him to be playing hard to get. "Oh," he said, blinking rapidly and trying to remember how Pepper used to fend him off. "I meant, thank you, Miss Potts." He snapped his head back to the computer and continued with his one-fingered typing. "I appreciate your interest," he said, the words of the memo swimming in and out of focus as his blood began its descent, "But I'm just trying to do my job."

"This could be part of your job," she hummed. "I would give you a _raise_."

It took every ounce of his rapidly eroding willpower not to spin around and take her up on her offer.

"It's not professional," he squeaked, remembering Pepper's cool, easy responses to his drunken passes – to his blatant flirting over breakfast and dinner and board meetings. He had no idea how she'd done it – he was just as irresistible as she was.

"All I want is a little face time with you Anthony," she murmured, "Nothing unprofessional about that."

He gulped, tried to make his fingers move on the keyboard, tried to stay in character.

"Besides, you want it – you want _me_ ," she said, pressing against his back so she could run her nails down his chest and palm his groin. "Admit it."

She had a very good point, much better than the reasons for continuing to pretend he didn't.

She squeezed. "I know you don't like it when I talk about this topic, Anthony."

Tony took a deep breath, reminding himself that this was her scene; she knew he needed it on some level - she definitely wanted it. "I don't," he lied courageously, trying to slide away from her devilish hand. "I just want to finish this memo and go home."

"Anthony, Anthony, Anthony," she muttered, her tone completely delighted. He liked it when she was pleased - when he was the one pleasing her, "We really do need to work on your attitude." She spun the chair around, away from the desk, and braced her hands against the arms so she could loom over him. "Now, what can I do to promote a little synergy between us?"

How had he never realized that business jargon was _hot_? 

We can't," he protested weakly, burning through his final burst of resolve. "You're my _boss_. Maybe it'll be best if I just go. I wouldn't want to do anything to disrupt our professional relationship." It sounded plausible, even with his voice shaking, his cock jutting against the fabric of his suit pants.

"Oh, Anthony, it looks like I'm going to have come up with a way to _properly_ motivate you."

"How are you going to do that?" he asked, his throat very dry.

She answered by very slowly, very deliberately licking at the left corner of his mouth.

Tony's mouth fell open in response, inviting more attention, more licking.

"No objections?" she asked pulling back with eyebrows raised. "No threatening to sue me or go to HR?"

"Uh, I'm going to call Julie…"

" _Janine_."

"In HR right now?" Despite his best efforts it ended up coming out as a question. He really wasn't good at roleplays – not even a little bit.

"There's the phone," she prompted, pointing over his shoulder. "HR is closed on Saturday but you could always leave a message – spend Monday in meetings filing complaints and giving statements, or…."

_Next time just ask for a script_ , his brain suggested. "Or?" he asked helplessly.

"You can just let me do what I want to do to you."

"That option," he said. "I want that option."

"Anything?" she asked.

"Anything Miss Potts, Ma'am," he said eagerly, nodding, waiting for her tongue on his lips again.

Pepper chuckled slightly, "Looks like our goals are finally in alignment."

"Yes," he hissed, then fell quiet again as she darted out her strong, supple, very pink tongue and lapped at the right corner of his mouth - not inside it, but tracing the sharp fold of it, setting off all sorts of interesting reactions in his body.

He felt her pull back and realized that his eyes had slipped closed. He forced them open and stared up at her, his vision hazy with longing.

"The things I'm going to do to you," she said, grazing her knuckles against his cheek.

"What things?" he panted, genuinely curious.

"You'll see," she replied maddeningly. She straightened and sauntered across the room, locking the door and retrieving a briefcase from beside the couch. He watched her every movement keenly, his senses reeling. She'd brought toys with her. She was going to use toys on him in his office.

She dropped the briefcase at his feet and leaned over him again, this time resting her palms on his thighs. "Are you sure you want this, Anthony? Once the briefcase is open only two words will stop me."

"I want it," he said enthusiastically.

"You asked for it," she said, picking up the briefcase and placing it on the desk. The shikking sound of the opening lock was almost obscene in the quiet room. Unblinking, Tony watched as she took out a bottle of lube and a silky piece of cloth. He could almost feel the sinful slide of the lube and the silk, caressing him into oblivion.

Hand jobs were seriously underrated.

"Scared yet?"

"Should I be?" he shot back before her mouth crushed down on his as she pushed the chair backwards and he swung into space, the only thing keeping him from tipping back were her hands, pressed down on the arms of the chair.

Breathless, she released his mouth and looked down at him. "There's one more thing, Anthony."

He waited patiently, then choked back sudden panic as she pulled a… _oh, God_ …strap-on dildo out of the briefcase. Unbidden, his hand drifted out to touch the toy; her hand grasped his wrist and arrested the movement.

"This is how it's going to go, Anthony: I am going to put _this_ ," she nodded down at the toy, "on and fuck you with it."

His eyes snagged on the toy - it was big, far bigger than the anal beads she'd used on him. Too big. His cock began to diminish and he started having serious doubts about her plan.

She pulled at his chin gently, redirecting her gaze to his face. "I would never hurt you, sweetheart," she said soothingly. "The big end is for me, the little one is for you."

Tony craned his eyes wildly, trying to get a better look at the toy; after several frantic seconds he was able to see that the toy actually did have a smaller end - a thin and short and slightly curved end. It didn't look scary. Mostly.

"Give me a word," she requested, stroking his ears slowly.

"Hot rod?" he mumbled.

"That was a question," she pointed out softly. "Did you mean to say Malibu? Board meeting?"

He took a deep breath and stared down the toy, wishing suddenly they'd come up with a word for _I'm not sure about the dildo, can we talk about it for a few more hours_?

"Trust me?" she asked.

His eyes shot to hers and held. He trusted her - he always had, he always would. "Completely, Miss Potts."

"I can make you feel good, Anthony, I promise. I want you to know how it feels for me when you take me, when you're moving inside of me. This is the closest approximation I could come up with, but you can say no - you can always say no. Now give me a word, not a question."

He took a deep breath. He could do this, _would_ do this. For her. "Hot rod, Ma'am," he said with way more bravado than he felt.

"That's my brave boy," she smiled, kissing his nose. "I'll make sure to note this in your employee review."

Tony smiled wanly, watching as she stood up and started peeling off her clothes. "I had that custom made," she said conversationally as she unzipped the dress and let it pool at her feet; she was completely nude underneath. He focused on the graceful slopes of her breasts and the bare, pale skin of her mound. "The big end is a perfect replica of this delectable piece of flesh." Her hands were back pressing on his cock, sliding two layers of cloth against it, coaxing it back into tumescence. "I used it on myself, wishing it was really you."

And, just like that, he was back in the game. The image of Pepper sprawled on her bed, filling herself with a replica of his cock, thinking of him…it was almost too much.

"Gah," he said, and was proud that he was able to say even that.

"That's what I said," she laughed, leaning over him so she could kiss him again. His hands twitched against the arms of the chair. He hadn't been told he could touch her - then again, he hadn't been told not to….

His hands connected with the silky skin at her hips. She squeaked slightly and straddled him, forcing his head back as she took possession of his mouth.

When she finally released him, he was fully hard and straining against his pants, desperate for her skin.

"Watch me," she said firmly, reaching for the toy. "I'm so ready for this." Seconds later she was sliding the Other Tony-shaped dildo deep inside of her. She gasped, panted; her eyes fluttered and she flushed pink from clavicle to rib cage.

"Fuck," he said. "That's fucking hot." And it was, truly. He ignored the _other_ part of the toy and watched raptly as her body opened for the toy. He leaned forward, wanting to be able to watch more closely. Something brushed against his face and he batted it away. He'd deal with it later. "Miss Potts…." He had no words.

She laughed, eyes still closed, still struggling to breathe. "And here's this lovely little pad that rubs my clit just right when I…." She rotated her hips and her breath caught, her teeth biting at her lower lip. "So good," she murmured, eyes finally snapping open to take him in. Her eyes were very, very blue, her lips very, very pink.

She fumbled to belt the thing around her waist; the small dildo - the one meant for _him_ \- stuck out and bobbed along with her movements - flesh-colored, hard and alien.

"Ready?"

"You'll be gentle?" Tony asked, swallowing hard, transfixed by the sight of his lovely, feminine Pepper with a cock protruding from between her legs. Despite his trepidation around where said cock was going to ultimately go, he found the sight surprisingly sexy; then again, he found most things Pepper did to be sexy.

"I'll be gentle," she promised. "Can't have you going to HR with a complaint."

His thoughts moved sluggishly and he realized she was referring to the roleplay. "No," he said slowly, "I don't want to spend all day Monday filling out reports."

"And making statements," she trilled, pulling him up to stand on unsteady legs; moments later he was as naked as she was and her eyes were moving over him avariciously. "Absolutely gorgeous," she whispered, kissing him again. The dildo pushed against his stomach and his nervousness increased.

It was so _hard_.

"You'll be okay," she said into his mouth. "You have the power, baby. You have the words."

He nodded, pressed his forehead against hers. He wanted to try this for her - wanted her to know how it felt when he breached her and took her and made her his.

Besides, the anal beads had felt really good.

"Turn around and lean over the desk," she prompted.

He did as he'd been told, pressing his chest against the cool, sleek wood.

"Okay?" she whispered, sliding her naked skin against him.

"Yes," he whispered, screwing his eyes closed.

Her fingers danced down his spine, gentle and soft. "Keep breathing," she said. "I'm going to take my time with you. I want this to be good for you." Then she slid one strong, lean thigh between his and spread him. Spread him for her . The shiver that coursed through him had very little to do with fear; Pepper recognized the difference and made an approving noise. "Good boy," she said, brushing her fingers between his cheeks. "My good boy."

He was hers, wholly and completely. It was time to prove that to her.

He breathed out, released the lingering tension and _believed_.

Her fingers were gentle, then wet and cool. He felt something silkier even then her skin and realized she was brushing the cloth of material over the opening to his body - the sleek slide of it erotic, enticing.

She worked at him until he was panting and smearing pre-cum across the expensive cherry wood, until her fingers were striking his prostate every second pass, until he opened his mouth and begged her to take him.

"Oh," she said, leaning down to press her breasts against his back and her lips to his ear. "You want me?"

"I do," he said, canting his hips back, driving her fingers deeper. She made a growling noise, possessive and primal. He could feel her desire, her need for him; this was what she felt every time they were together.

No wonder she craved him.

Then she pushed into him with the toy - slowly but inexorably filling him and it was insanely, stupidly, ridiculously _good_.

He pushed back and she bucked up against him, gasping, and stopped, the dildo fully seated inside of him. Her hand slid down his back, gentling, soothing and calming. "Give me a word, Anthony."

"Hot rod, Ma'am. Fucking hot rod."

"Language," she chided, pinching his hip playfully.

"I stand by my statement," he panted, the words distant and echoing in his ears. The world was whiting out already.

She leaned down over the long line of his back, pushing in deeper, and whispered in his ear, "I told you you'd like it, sweetheart. I told you I was _good_." Her hand and the silk closed over his cock, keeping time with her merry movements.

"Yes, Ma'am. Goodgoodgoodgodsogood."

She began to move in earnest, driven by his enthusiastic, ecstatic response; the desk shifted and shook beneath her thrusts, his thrusts, the hungry movements of their bodies.

"Potts," he moaned, "Pottspottspotts."

"That's Miss Potts to you, Anthony," she said, gasping, groaning as the toy worked its magic on her.

"Yes, sorry, Misspottsmisspottsmisspo-." Then she twisted her hips in a truly devious way and her hand tightened just right and he lost all ability to form words - was lost as his office exploded around him, as he began shooting jets of pleasure into silk and skin. Then everything went black and white with sparkles.

Hours - or more likely minutes - later, Tony breathed in and opened his eyes. Cherry wood stared back at him.

"Huh."

"You okay, Anthony?"

He wiggled his hips experimentally - the heavy fullness in his ass and the weight of his irresistible Pepper were gone.

"Baby?"

He turned his head and looked at the laptop, miraculously unscathed by the sexual gymnastics.

" _Anthony_."

He turned his head in the opposite direction and saw Pepper's face. She appeared to be bent at the waist and peering at him.

"I'm good," he said picking his head up. She was bending at the waist and peering at him. "Can I sit down?"

"Sure."

"Okay," he said, folding his legs under him and plopping down onto the carpet, hoping he wouldn't leave a stain. It would be hard to explain.

He shifted a little and decided that he didn't care. He'd just make Pepper deal with it.

Pepper sat down beside him. He noticed the toy was gone.

"We are truly twisted people, you know," he observed.

"I think you might want to rephrase that, Anthony," she said fiercely.

"We are truly twisted people, _Ma'am_."

"You are incorrigible."

"And you are incredible," he countered wondering if he could graze at her neck without pissing her off.

She flushed and smiled, leaned forward and kissed him.

He was dizzy within seconds. "I'm going to lie down," he announced, then did so, settling back on the plush and heavily padded carpet. It was very comfortable.

She followed suit, reclining on her side and looking at him, a happy smile on her lips as she traced his collarbone.

"How are we going to explain the mess?" he asked.

"What mess?"

He looked at her in amazement. "We just defiled my office - thoroughly and comprehensively - there's gotta be a mess."

"First off, it won't be the first time this office was defiled."

"I've never had sex in here before," he said, hesitating a beat before the question burst from him. "Have you?"

"No. Of course not. You haven't?" She began smiling in earnest.

"A few of the supply cabinets and one of the conference rooms, but not in here." He craned his neck. "And now every time I'm here I'm going to get hard remembering this."

"Good thing you aren't here often," she laughed.

He didn't bother to fight her on it - she was completely right. There was, however, still the question of incriminating stains. "But…."

"I do know what I'm doing," she said huffily. "Most of your…."

"Man juice," he helpfully supplied. "Love cream, sweet nectar of pleasure."

" _Emissions_ ," she said brusquely, "Were captured in the silk and on my hand. There won't be much clean-up at all."

A queer swelling feeling erupted in his chest - not painful, not RT related, but new and different. He kind of liked it. "You're kind of amazing."

"Back at ya."

He could feel the goofy grin stretch his mouth - he could feel it and he couldn't stop it. He wasn't sure he would have even if he could. "What did you think when you first walked into this office and saw me - when I wasn't just a face in the papers or on TV?"

She wasn't expecting the question and it took her several seconds to respond. "I thought you were even better looking in person…."

"Ah ha!" he yelped triumphantly.

"And shorter."

He grimaced at her.

"And I was sure you were going to fire me because I had found a mistake made by the Great Tony Stark. Little did I know, you would _listen_ to me, not tell me to clean out my desk."

Tony nodded, smiling - he loved that she had come in to his office, obviously terrified, to point out that he wasn't infallible when it came to numbers, especially when his error would've cost the company money.

"And, what did you think of me?" she asked.

He didn't have to think about his answer - not for a single second - it had underscored the last decade of his life. "Fiery, lovely and about to kick my ass."

She sighed - a happy sound - and began to run her fingers through his hair. "Kick it but not fuck it?"

"God, no - I would've fired you on the second day if I'd thought that," he choked out.

She gave him one inquisitive and eloquent eyebrow.

"But now that we've done it, I find that it's not entirely awful."

"Hmmmmm?"

"And I liked it. A lot. Liked you having me that way. I mean, I still like the usual way better," he added hastily. "You know, me inside of you, but I'd be okay with adding this to our repertoire from time to time."

"Next time I want to be able to see your face," she said.

A wave of intense emotion broke over him as a vivid image swam into his head: him on his back, legs bent at the knee and in the air, holding himself open for Pepper's thrusts - able to see her face, able to kiss her as she moved inside of him.

_Goddamn_ that worked for him.

"I'd be really good with that," he said hoarsely.

"Duly noted," she said, withdrawing her fingers from his sweaty hair so she could stretch sinuously. He realized she was preparing to stand up.

"Miss Potts?"

She stopped in mid-movement and looked at him, gave him permission to continue.

"Thank you," he said. "For making this weekend happen. I really need it."

"Oh Anthony," she said. "So do I.


	27. Lady Ember shows Anthony the joys of sensation play

At 9:55 on Sunday morning, Anthony knelt in the middle of the playroom bed - knelt on the sports sheet he'd carefully put on the playroom bed – and bent forward into the position his Lady had told him she wanted him in, and waited.

And waited.

He stretched and wiggled.

And waited.

He pulled his drifting thoughts back in, focused on the feelings in his body. Imagined what would happen when his Pepper finally arrived.

And he continued to wait.

He drummed his fingers, he curled and uncurled his toes. Thought about asking Jarvis for the time. Decided against it. Arched his back and stretched his hamstrings.

But he stayed in position. Mostly.

And was finally rewarded with soft footfalls an indeterminate amount of time later.

"Lovely," his Lady murmured. The bed dipped beneath him and he could feel her heat before she touched him, before she began to stroke the stripe of his spine - from the nape of his neck to the small of his back and up again - with mesmerizingly gentle movements. "Now that I've seen you like this, I'll want you in this position at the beginning of every play session, Anthony."

He relaxed further into the pose and nodded.

"You have my permission to speak," she whispered wetly before pausing to lap at his right bicep, to follow the line of the muscle with her teeth. "I love the sounds you make for me. I can never get enough of them."

"Yes, Milady," he said, his eyes fluttering closed as her fingers resumed dancing over his skin. He wondered what she was wearing, what her hair looked like; not knowing was incredibly arousing.

Her supple fingers dipped lower, between the cheeks of his ass. "How are you here today?"

"Fine. Go-," the last word was lost to a strangled cry as she put pressure on his delicate opening; it didn't hurt - he was just more _aware_ of the area than he'd ever been before.

Her fingers immediately fell away.

"Was that a bad sound?" She sounded anxious.

"No, ma'am, I'm just a little sensitive there right now."

She hummed and stroked him gently; he realized she was checking him, examining him. The thought was oddly endearing.

"I meant what I said yesterday," she said some delightful moments later. "I'll want to take you here again. The power, opening you for me, being inside of you - it was incredible. And I want to see your face when I do it, want to see your face when I possess you utterly."

"Oh, God," he said. "Oh, _God_ , Milady. Can we do that today?"

"Not today," she said as she placed gentle kisses across the swells of his ass; he leaned back into her lips. "You need time to rest up, no matter how much you like being played with here." Her fingers slid back between his cheeks, brushing not probing.

"I never did before," he pointed out. "But you're good. Very, very good. Are you really sure about today? I'm rested. I'm good." He turned his head towards her, wishing he could look at her, let her _see_ that he was serious and fine and more than a little bit needy. The thought of her pushing into him, her eyes fixed on his face…it was a definite turn-on, definitely on his Things I Want Pepper To Do To Me list.

"Cheeky," she said, swatting him lightly. "On your back, Anthony. I have plans for today and they don't include your ass."

Tony was disappointed with her pronouncement, but he did as he was told.

She was naked. Her skin glowed. She was sitting cross-legged beside him. Her hair was down and wildly curly. She was holding the restraint pads in one hand and a blindfold in the other. She said, "Hello, gorgeous."

"Hello, Lady Ember," he replied taking her in greedily.

"Arms out, pet."

He complied and in seconds – literal seconds; she was crazy good at this stuff – he was restrained – the cuffs around his ankles and wrists and the pads slapped down on the sheet so his arms were out at ninety degree angles from his body and his legs spread widely.

She looked down at him, the look on her face arresting – both affectionate and hungry, like she wanted to eat him up – but so gently, with such small licks and kisses and nibbles and bites that he'd welcome it, beg for it before she was done with him.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his mind acting wholly independently of the rest of him.

"My thoughts exactly," she whispered. She kissed him gently, the touch of her lips chaste despite the dissolute circumstances.

Her sure and certain hands slipped the blindfold around his head even as their lips continued sliding together, slipping and brushing. She rested her hand on his stomach, gauging his breathing, his response.

"What's the word, sweetheart?" Her breath fanned out over his lips.

He tested the bonds. There was no give, no slack. He was completely at her mercy. "Hot rod, Ma'am," he said, nodding enthusiastically to underscore his avowal; his nose brushed against what felt like her cheek. "This is good. This is very good."

"We'll see," she replied. The bed shifted and he could hear her padding away from him. He twisted his head, trying to follow her movements – worried that she was going to leave him bound, exposed.

That wouldn't be fun _at all_.

She was back within moments, the bed rocking under him as she climbed back onto it. He could hear ice chinking against glass.

"Scotch?" he asked hopefully.

"Hardly," she replied huffily. "I think you'll find you like ice just fine on its own."

He kept his opinion about the matter to himself as she touched his right palm. His fingers curled in involuntarily, trying to shield the tender skin from the ice. She slid it across his hand and over the pulse point in his wrist, over the fold of his elbow, up, up to where his arm met his torso.

With the sense of sight gone his sense of touch was hyper-acute. He could feel every slick, sliding movement, every inch of skin as it chilled.

"Cold?" she asked before leaning over and blowing over the path of ice water she'd left on his arm. He shuddered at the sensation. He'd never felt anything like it before.

She worked on his throat next, then his shoulders. Under the blindfold he kept his eyes closed tightly, felt every sensation. Savored every sensation.

She left the chilled water pooling into the little well at the base of his throat to nip at his lips. "Tell me how this feels," she ordered.

He wasn't sure what she was referring to and started to say exactly that - "How does what feel?" – when she transferred the ice's attentions to the small nubs of flesh that bracketed the RT and the sentence ended with him emitting a very unmanly "arrgh!"

"I didn't quite catch that Anthony." Pepper continued to trail the melting hunk of frozen water from nipple to nipple. "How does this feel?"

"Cold."

She huffed. "C'mon genius, you can do better than that."

He stilled his mind, focused on the feeling. "Slippery," he tried again. "Cold and hot, smooth. My skin is numb when the ice is on it, prickly when it's not."

"That's my boy," she said, then her mouth fastened over one shivery nipple. Warmth flooded his skin, his body. He groaned and tried to push up into her. He was less than successful.

Damn sports sheets.

All too soon her mouth was gone and the ice was back, leaving jolting lines of sensation in its wake. He gasped, then moaned as her mouth – hot and wicked – returned sensation to his skin.

"Too much?" she asked against one sorely used nipple.

"No," he moaned out. It wasn't. It was incredible – he wanted more. She read his mind like always and slid cold fingers and colder water down the line of his abdomen, swirling around the sticky-out skin of his belly button before dipping lower. He tensed, but her frigid fingers left the sensitive skin quickly and he breathed easier.

Until the first drop hit the tip of his rigid and ready cock.

He made an inhuman sound. Another drop fell and his fingers and toes curled. Frosty skin brushed over his balls and another drip fell and coursed down the length of him. Astonishingly it only served to make him harder.

"Okay," he said, "okayokaygoodohgodgoodgood."

"I'm pleased that you're pleased," she said wryly and he wondered where her eyes were – on his face or on his cock – then her tongue touched him and he didn't care about anything but the warmth, the lapping muscle that warmed and soothed.

She swirled around the tip, used the flat of her tongue on his length, sucked his balls gently into the soft, sultry sultry _sultry_ cavity of her mouth. The warmth was intense, the contrast with the cold intoxicating. Her hand – the _other_ hand; the one that hadn't been torturing him with ice – replaced her mouth, stroking and coaxing. He swelled even more under her ministrations. He thought about begging for her to climb on top of him and just _take_ him for God's sake.

Before he could form the words necessary to make his case, her lips were on his, her mouth full of rapidly melting ice. Her lips were cold, frozen – warming against his. Her tongue, also icy, slid into his mouth along with a flood of chilled water. He tipped his head up, drinking deeply, suddenly mad with thirst for ice water and Pepper.

She made a startled noise and pulled away. He wished he could see her face. He was pretty sure that the look on it was something he'd want to remember for the rest of his life.

"Be good," she said, her voice unsteady. "We're not there yet."

"Why?" he whined.

"Because I am Lady Ember," she said firmly, "and I make the rules, Anthony." She shifted slightly, her skin brushing maddeningly against his, and his eyes widened under the blindfold, searching for a sliver of light, of sight – of anything that would tell him what she was doing.

He heard the distinctive click of a bottle and the sweet cloying smell of honey filled the air. The first drop hit his skin, sticking instantly – thick and slow and gelatinous. He wasn't sure he liked the sensation - it was very sticky, very tacky and not at all pleasant. Her hands pressed down then up, pulling at his skin gently, bringing blood to the surface, heating as she went.

The substance made squelching sounds as she worked her way across his stomach and down over his hipbones. He could feel more hit the skin of his legs, felt her hands draw at his skin, pull at the hairs on his legs.

He definitely didn't like it. Not enough to safeword - but it was definitely something he never wanted to experience again.

"Talk to me," she prompted from somewhere around his calves. "Tell me what you feel."

"Sticky," he said, carefully modulating his tone. "Syrupy."

She danced her fingers back up his body, circumventing his cock but pulling lightly on his pubic hair. "You don't like it."

 _You can tell her_ , he reminded himself. _This is as much about you as it is about her. Be honest, Stark_.

"Not really," he said, trying not to wince, trying not to feel like he was somehow letting her down.

"But you liked the ice."

"The ice was good," he agreed. "Very, very good."

"Interesting," she said as she climbed off the bed again.

She was gone longer than she had been the first time she'd left and he strained fruitlessly against the tethers, worried that he'd upset her, trying to get free to find her.

Then he smelled the chocolate. Heavy, sugary, thick. He could taste the scent on his tongue. The darkness tipped, momentarily disorienting him; her familiar skin brushed against his as she drizzled lines of it down his thighs and knees.

The chocolate was hot and just this side of painful. He couldn't ignore it, couldn't help but compare it with the ice and the honey.

"Describe the sensations," she instructed as she began to lap at the chocolate, cleaning his skin assiduously.

"Hot," he murmured, trying to think of adjectives and descriptors that would please her. "Slick, thick, tingly, I like the slide of it, like the…oh God there. There is very, very good." Pepper had discovered a particularly sensitive patch of skin on the inside of his left knee. She indulged him for several seconds before releasing the spot and moving higher.

"This works for you," she said. Not a question.

"Oh yeah," he said, pushing up as much as he could as she spread heat on his belly button and abs, then used her tongue to clean, to cleanse.

This was slippery where the honey had been sticky, slick where it had been slithery.

The chocolate definitely worked for him.

She was dropping drips and swirls on his skin. The unpredictably of where they would land, which ones she would clean and which ones she would leave alone had him writhing, straining, gibbering.

She kept decorating him, swirling her fingers and tongue through the candy, sucking pieces of chocolaty skin deeply into her mouth, leaving the heat to linger in several places – pleasant and persistent and cooling slowly.

"Lady," he squeaked out, unable to bear the erotic torture – unable to take another _second_ without tightness and rhythm around his cock. "I ne-."

Her lips crashed down over his, cutting off his words, filling his mouth with the heady, intoxicating taste of milk and sugar and cocoa. His teeth fastened around her bottom lip and tugged gently, trying to pull her closer the only way he could.

"Anthony," she chided, freeing herself from him. He lifted his head blindly, a plant seeking the sun.

"I'm sorry," he babbled.

She laid one chocolaty finger across his lips, silencing him. He fought the compulsion to lick at the digit, to clean off the candy so he could taste Pepper's skin.

Just as he was losing the battle, the finger was gone, and then the blindfold. Purblind, he blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyes to focus, needing to see her face.

She gazed down at him, a smiling tugging at the corner of her lips, her hair falling forward around their faces.

"Are you still with me, pet?"

He nodded, then said, "Yes, ma'am. Still here." He bounced his hips up slightly. "Very present."

She glanced down. "Yes, I can see that. I suppose we need to take care of that."

"Ye…G…pl…only if you want to."

"You might learn some manners yet," she laughed, sliding down his body, lapping here and there, until she was settled between his legs, unfastening the restraints at his ankles. She reversed the trip, her mouth sliding down over his cock once, just once, and scattering kisses across his skin until she had released his hands. He flexed them, rotated ankles and wrists and waited for instruction.

"I'm going to ride you," she said.

"I'm good with that," he said, spreading his legs wider, eyes darting around for the strap-on.

Her head jerked in unison with his movements and her nose wrinkled. "You really do have a one-track mind, Anthony. That's not what I meant." She climbed off of him and pushed at his hip. "Sit up. Put your back against the headboard."

He moved, his skin sticking and pulling; he glanced down at his body. It appeared that she'd been a little more enthusiastic with the dribbling then he'd originally thought. He was practically covered with honey and chocolate.

This was going to be _very_ interesting.

She poked and prodded him until he was sitting the way she desired: back against a pillow and supported by the sturdy headboard, his knees drawn up, legs spread. She gave a nod of satisfaction and straddled him, her hands pressed down against his shoulders.

"You'll need to guide me," she said, holding up her sticky chocolate and honey-covered hands. "I can't get this stuff anywhere near there." She nodded down at the fetching vee of her legs, down where he was rampant and straining for her.

His helpful brain pushed words into his consciousness: _sugar plus vagina equals no fun for anyone_.

"You got it," he said gripping her left hip in his right hand and curling his fingers around his cock with the left. He guided her down and onto him, gasping at the incredible, incendiary heat of her. Joined, she leaned back slightly, resting her back against his legs, and slid up. He watched in fascination as he watched himself emerge from her body and delve back in.

How had he waited this long to really see this? How had he gone months and months without this view, this vision? Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she rocked, rocked, rocked; he watched, watched, watched.

"Like that, Anthony?"

"God, fuck, sonofa-."

She cut him off in mid word, taking lazy possession of his mouth with short, sucking kisses that mirrored the short, slow strokes of her body against his. She pressed closer to him, bumping her clit against his pubic bone, deepening the kisses by degrees until they were languorous, drugging; the corresponding movements slow and dreamy, lazy - as if they had hours, days, weeks, _forever_ to do nothing but rock together.

His fingers moved to her hair, pulled her closer; she growled softly against his mouth and slid her tongue deeper, mimicking the motions of his cock inside of her. She tightened around him and her fingers slid to his ears, finding the sensitive spots beneath the lobes. She pressed and tightened and growled and pummeled and rockedrockedrocked and the orgasm rose in spiraling waves, rushing inexorably through his body. He gasped into her mouth and came inside of her. As he was still shooting, still shaking, she rocked harder, her mouth pressed against his shoulder, her teeth pressing, biting, marking.

She stilled, sweaty and heavy against him – every inch of his body covered in sweat or chocolate or honey, every inch tingling and sparking.

"Uh…."

"Yeah," she panted into his aching shoulder. "Uh."

"Really. Uh."

She kissed where she'd bitten, then raised her head and looked searchingly at him. "I didn't mean to bite you – I couldn't help it." She kissed the spot again.

He craned his head and saw the already-purpling mark. "Huh," he said. "That's nothing – and I liked getting it. Beats getting my ass kicked by thugs and terrorists."

"Okay," she said uncertainly.

"I want to go on the record as being in favor of the way you think," he said, stretching his legs out until he felt his muscles burn; she tipped back slightly before grabbing his shoulders and righting herself. "You have the best fu- the best ideas."

"So, temperature play was a success," she grinned.

"Is that what it's called?"

She nodded briefly.

"Yes. But not the honey. I didn't like that." He made a moue of distaste. "Way too sticky."

"Says the man who is happiest covered in all manner of viscous and malodorous substances."

"I'm happiest covered in you," he disagreed. "And there's a big difference between motor oil and transmission fluid, and _honey_. Big. Huge. What?"

She was smiling at him broadly, her head tipped and her eyes soft and melty – fully his Pepper. He knew it instantly, could always, always tell.

She blinked at his demand. "What? Nothing. You're just rather adorable, Anthony." She shook her head and slid back into Lady Ember. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Of course he did. He'd known it since childhood. He nodded in agreement – false modesty was unnecessary – and moved his legs back up to rest against her back and looked at her, just looked at her. It was surprisingly restful.

"What would you have done?"

He frowned; confused.

"This weekend. If I couldn't have cleared the schedule, if I couldn't have made this happen."

She wanted a serious answer, he could see it, and he obliged her, fighting every urge to engage in his usual dance of obfuscation by doltishness. "I would've gone to every appearance, every meeting," he replied.

Her eyebrows bounced up anyway.

"I _would_ have," he said indignantly. "Because I know that's what you wanted me to do and because it was what was expected of me - I can do the right thing you know…."

"I know that," she agreed softly.

"And because I would've been able to see you…mainly because I would've been able to see you."

"Anthony…."

"And I would have thought. A lot. And probably drank. More than just a little. Probably had nightmares if I'd slept, which I would've tried very hard not to do. I most likely would've ended up building a new robot or a new suit or, I don't know, a girlfriend for Jarvis."

He took a deep breath. "This was far better than _any_ of that."

"I would agree." She shifted slightly, forcibly reminding him that he was still resting (diminished but still damned impressive) inside of her – he may have been sated but he wasn't dead – and more than a little sticky and syrupy. She leaned forward and licked a blazing line up the side of his neck.

"You?" he asked hoarsely, hoping to divert her – the sensations had tipped from erotic to purely sticky and uncomfortable. He wanted to be a lot cleaner before they started up again.

If they were going to start up again.

"Me what?" she asked from the general area of his collarbone; she didn't seem to be distracted by the pulling and tugging and sugary grinding and chafing.

"What would you have done this weekend?"

She released his skin and peered at him. "The same exact things. Not the inventing thing – but definitely the other stuff. There would've been a lot of martinis with a lot of olives, lots of staring at the ceiling…you can talk to me, you know."

He blinked. "I know that. I told you that I know that."

"But you _don't_ ," she continued. "You never tell me what's going on up here." She tapped the side of his head lightly.

He reached for her hands – the one resting against his temple; the one gripping his bicep with bruising strength – and pulled them into his. "You want to know?" he asked; he could feel his stomach tense up, his muscles harden. "Okay. I don't want to talk about what happened because if I talk about it, then I think about it and…well I've already discussed what happens when I think about it."

She pursed her lips.

"I don't need to talk about it or think about it," he said before she could begin talking. "It's always there and I can handle it. It's not _important_ right now. Only one thing really is."

"And that is…."

"That I'm yours and that you're mine," he said slowly. "Right now nothing else matters. Okay?"

"Oh," she said. "Okay. That's good. That works."

"Fantastic," he grinned. "Now can we please go take a shower? I have honey in places I really don't want it."

She giggled and pulled up and away from him; there was a fair amount of tugging and pulling before she was able to extricate herself. "We really are a mess."

"Dirty," he grinned. "Filthy. _Defiled_."

She pulled at his hands, maneuvering him off the bed. "Says the man who once wore the same t-shirt for a week."

"I was _creating_ ," he protested as they staggered into the bathroom, fingers intertwined and Pepper walking backwards so she could continue to look at him ruefully. "I didn't have time to change…."

"Or shower or sleep or eat."

"I ate," he protested. "I slept."

She released his hands so she could fiddle with the knobs, adjust the heat of the water. When it met her exacting standards she turned to him with a coquettish smile that turned his stomach and heart over and over.

"Time for me to show you the magic of the left shower jet, Anthony." Then she stepped into the steam and water.

"God, _yes_ ," he said and followed her.


	28. Happy birthday, Pepper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of 2010, when I wrote this story, what Pepper says about Sprinkles cupcakes was very true (my research was not just confined to the smuttier aspects of my story). I'm not sure if things have changed for Sprinkles in the last six years; please check out the Sprinkles cupcake flavors page for more info.
> 
> Thanks to my beloved foodygoody for the nail polish name. I told you I'd use it eventually _mes ami_!
> 
> BoundRobots.com is not a real website. I hope.

"Miss Potts is on her way down, Sir, and she does not appear to be very happy."

"No, she wouldn't be," Tony smirked before rounding on the 'bots. "Dummy, you drop that box and I'll donate you to a children's museum - you can spend the rest of your life being poked and prodded and climbed on."

You, who had been tasked with an equally important job, made a hopeful, interrogative noise. Tony realized that his submissive robot would probably _enjoy_ that kind of treatment. "If you drop those," he threatened, rounding on him, "I'll cancel your subscription to BoundRobots.com."

You squeaked and his grip tightened.

"Now go hide and don't forget to come back when I call you. Not before I call you, not twenty minutes after I call you - but _when I call you_."

They whirred away, cowed obedience evident in their every line and curve.

Tony focused his attention on watching, with equal amounts of fascination and hunger, as Pepper descended the stairs to the workshop: feet in stiletto sling backs (he approved), then, in astoundingly short order, long bare legs, a shortish (but not short enough) gray skirt, a fitted gray-blue sweater-thing that clung to her shapely waist and amazing breasts (he heartily approved), and a stormy, beautiful face.

Tony crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

Pepper glared at him through the glass and stabbed in her access code; Tony feared for her fingers - even more for the keypad. She yanked the door open and stomped across the floor, her heels striking hard enough to leave divots in the cement.

When she spoke her voice was deceptively even and silky. Tony knew full well that a silky and even Potts was an angry Potts. "Why are you in the workshop wearing an eight thousand dollar suit? Why aren't you at the press conference with Rhodey? Why don't you listen when I tell you things? Why didn't you believe me when I told you that it's imperative that you be at the press conference, and be on time and coherent?"

"I needed to take care of something down here, I won't get dirty, promise, and I rescheduled the press conference for two-thirty," he said hastily, trying to head her off before she slipped into full-on rant mode. He liked it when she was worked up, not when she was furious - she was scary when she was outright livid. And loud. Very, very loud. "I can do that you know, because it's my company and I'm the boss…"

She sucked on her teeth and pinioned him with a frosty glare.

"Sort of," he conceded. "Look I'll be there on time, bouncing and behaving, but I had to do something first."

"What?" she demanded, her hands on the curve of her waist, her feet anchored hips width apart. "You know how important this week is, how crucial it is that you do _everything_ PR has planned for you to do."

"First off," he said soothingly, walking up to her and rubbing her arms, "I know you don't truly believe the whole 2009 Sanity Tour is really necessary."

She gave him a withering look but didn't disagree.

"Second, I don't even have time to _pee_ until tomorrow night at six and I really needed to take care of an imperative, crucial and important project _today_."

"What project, Tony?" she asked wearily, the fight bleeding out of her. "Suit upgrades, a new video game, 3-D porn?"

"Hmmmm, _3-D porn_...," he said musingly. "That would be...."

"That would be _what_ , Tony?" Her muscles, her face, her voice were all tight. Tony recognized the signs: she was sliding quickly into furious mode.

"Irrelevant," Tony said, determined to head her off. "And horrible. And completely unnecessary. No, this project is vital to my future personally."

 _That_ got her attention. "Okay," she said slowly, "What's the project?"

"Jarvis, go! Dummy get out here!"

A line started to etch its way between her eyebrows, then the music - a very bombastic rendition of "Happy Birthday" - filled the cavernous work space; Dummy trundled forward with a cardboard box tied with twine in his claw. Pepper's head snapped between looking at Tony and looking at Dummy. She appeared absolutely flabbergasted.

"A little feedback would be nice, Pepper."

"It's my birthday," she said slowly.

"I know that," he gave her his best quizzical look. "Didn't you?"

"Of course I knew," she said somewhat snappishly. "But tomorrow is…."

"The day after your birthday," he said airily, ruthlessly squelching anything that was going to interfere with his ability to remember her face - stunned and shocked, but rapidly morphing into pleased and happy. "And, just to let you know, I remembered on my own weeks ago."

"Very true, Miss Potts," Jarvis interjected. "And may I wish you many happy returns?"

"Thanks, Jarvis," Pepper said, sinking into a chair and staring at Tony as he plucked the cardboard box from Dummy and opened it. He took out a cupcake and put a single white candle in the middle.

"Make a wish," he prompted, lighting it with one of his specially designed miniature soldering irons; the candle caught instantly.

"I don't know what to wish for," she said softly.

"You better decide fast, Potts. I give this candle another thirty seconds, tops, before it melts all over your cupcake."

Her eyes met his and she stumbled to her feet; he deduced her plan and was able to get the cake and candle onto a workbench before she was in his arms, kissing him for all she was worth.

Breathless seconds later, she released him; her eyes were glowing and she was smiling quite unlike he'd ever see her smile before.

"We're celebrating your birthday every day," he decided.

She laughed and, her arms still around his waist, leaned over and blew out the candle.

"That's red velvet," he pointed out. "And there's coconut and orange and lemon, too. Chocolate ones. A couple of carrot - I won't fight you on _those_ \- but absolutely no strawberry."

"Sprinkles doesn't make all of these on Wednesday," she said. She released him, but leaned her long body against his, her head resting against his as she removed the candle and peeled back the paper. "I'd have to be there every day to get this kind of variety."

"That's because you refuse to use your connection to me," he pointed out.

"I only use my connection to you to get things _you_ need." She took a bite of her cupcake; a dreamy smile spread across her face.

"Well, I need you to be happy," he told her, "So you can use me any way you want to."

Her eyes widened but she kept chewing daintily; she didn't respond - Pepper _never_ spoke with her mouth full – just stared at him analytically.

He cleared his throat and throttled back the nerves – he'd said something fraught with implications too deep and far-reaching for either of them to deal with the day before the day after her birthday – avoided her gaze and picked out a coconut cupcake. He peeled off the paper, fit most of it in his mouth and began chewing with great gusto.

Pepper looked at him in ill-disguised horror and swallowed. "You are going to choke and die," she pointed out. "As I have enough work to do as it is, I would appreciate not having to write an obituary and then spend the next six weeks continually confirming that no, truly, even though we always thought he would, Mr. Stark _didn't_ die in the midst of an orgy gone awry."

He rolled his eyes and swallowed. "See. Still breathing. And I'm not going to die in the midst of an orgy. I think the odds are that I'll die trussed up and covered with honey because you left the vibrating cock ring on high and left me alone so you could return calls. You should probably start figuring out how you're going to spin _that_."

Her eyes glimmered evilly. "What makes you think I haven't already?" She raised a sardonic eyebrow and took a big - but manageable - bite of cupcake. Her eyes fluttered slightly as the cream cheese frosting spread over her tongue.

Tony started making plans for his next weekend - feeding Pepper chocolates and ice cream and cake; watching her face as she became aroused by the food.

Yup. Definitely happening.

She gave him a questioning look and he refocused. This was _her_ birthday so it should be all about _her_ , not his never-ending desire to see her aroused and/or satiated.

"Want your presents, Potts?"

"'Ouogmpreentsdo?"

It was one of the most outstanding moments of Tony's life: he'd made Pepper Potts speak with food in her mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," he chided playfully. "And yes, I got you presents, too. Of course I got you presents. I am cognizant of the traditional birthday activities.

"For example, I get to give you one kiss per year - good thing we're both so old; that's going to be a lot of kisses. I'm _really_ looking forward to that one."

"It's a spank per year," she corrected, her mouth finally free of velvety cake and creamy frosting.

"So you are into spanking," he grinned. "Me, too - of the gentle, sensual variety."

"I'm not into spanking of any variety," she corrected. "And I already bought myself a gift from you because you never remember my birthday."

"But I _did_ remember your birthday. You!"

You dutifully trundled forward bearing several gaily wrapped boxes; Pepper gawped at them; there was a bit of frosting at the corner of her lip, Tony licked it off, smiled at her - she'd transferred her gawping from You to him - and asked, "What did you buy yourself?"

"Huh?" She was definitely dazed. "Oh, boots."

"I hope they aren't tasteful."

"Not even close to being tasteful," she mumbled.

"A gift for both of us then," he grinned. "Here," he thrust a package wrapped in purple polka-dotted paper into her hands- his secretary Norma had chosen the paper. And wrapped the presents - "Open it."

Pepper took the package from him did as she'd been told. " _Tony_ ," she said when she saw the legend on the mug. "'My boss is a sexy bastard,' _Tony_." She started laughing.

Laughing, especially laughing like she was - bright and musical and _delighted_ \- was good.

"Pretty cool, right?"

"Very cool."

"I designed it and ordered it myself."

"With help," Jarvis interjected.

"I'm trying to win points here," Tony yelped at the ceiling.

"You are," Pepper said gently. She leaned around him and snatched up the largest gift and opened it quickly. No careful gift-opening for Pepper; she was a paper ripper.

"This is also a gift for both of us," he pointed out needlessly once the contents were revealed.

"I can see that," she said. "Didn't know you were into latex."

"I'm into you in latex," he responded, holding the skintight black catsuit to her body; it would fit perfectly, he'd made sure of it. "Damn I can pick out clothes. Tell me you'll wear the boots with it."

"They're black leather," she said like that was supposed to mean something to him.

He shook his head. "So you'll wear the boots with the latex."

"Leather boots. Latex suit," she said slowly.

Tony frowned - he was obviously not _getting_ something. "Skintight suit and tasteless boots, Pepper. Sleek, skintight suit," he murmured, starting to pet the suit gently.

She grabbed the suit from his hands and put it back in the box. "That's for later."

"But not _much_ later, right?" he protested, fingers scudding back towards the sleek, slippery material.

Maybe he _was_ into latex.

"We'll see," she said musingly, tearing at the final present. She opened the box and looked at the small bottle of red-gold nail polish, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening in confusion.

"Flip it over," Tony prompted.

"Potts of Gold," she read out loud.

"Part of the Iron Man collection," he elaborated. "I created the color myself – it's what your hair looks like when the sun hits it."

She stared at the small bottle silently.

Tony started to feel uneasy. He didn't like the sensation.

"I didn't work with Jan…."

"Fran," she corrected, her attention still fixed on the polish. "Fran is the one you slept with."

"Okay, this was stupid," he said trying to grab the bottle back. "I should've gotten you earrings," he said. "Or a necklace. Or a tiara. Do you want a tiara?"

She looked up at, her eyes filled with something deeper than desire, more potent than affection. Her arms went around him and she tugged him close. He stiffened. "What are you doing?"

"God, Tony. I'm hugging you. I can't believe I have to explain this to you."

"We don't hug," he said. It was true. They kissed and bantered and fought and had sex - _God_ did they have sex - but they didn't hug. They'd _never_ hugged, really.

"We do now," she said. "Hug me back, Tony."

He did, tentatively. It felt weird, but nice – really nice - to just hold her without the prospect of kissing or sex.

He was pretty certain there was no prospect for kissing or sex.

"Thank you for my nail polish and my cupcakes," she said into his hair, "And for my mug and even the damn catsuit. And for remembering my birthday."

"You deserve it all," he murmured. "Potts…." He shut his eyes; took a deep breath, filling himself with her. He didn't want to do anything but stay where they were – didn't want to deal with the day after her birthday and people staring at him and wondering – didn't want to not-think or answer questions or…. "Let's go away," he said. "Just the two of us. _Now_."

"Tony," she laughed. "Stop joking."

"I'm serious. Let's get in my plane and take off for my island."

"You don't own an island," she said patiently. She'd started to rub her cheek gently across the side of his neck; her breath puffed across his skin.

"That just doesn't make sense," he said. "I really seem like the kind of person who should own an island. A couple of islands. I should've bought you an island for your birthday."

"That would've been a little over the top," she said, leaning back and grinning. "Even for you…." She looked at him properly. Lord knew what she saw, but her smile faded. "What's wrong, Tony?"

"Nothing that getting the hell out of California won't cure."

She released him and stepped back so she could tip her head, so she could read him. "Talk to me, sweetheart. _Tell me_."

He closed his eyes. "I want to be somewhere without TVs and reporters and stupid questions."

He felt her fingers lace through his, he opened his eyes and stared at where their hands were looped together, where his skin pressed against hers. His stomach stopped roiling.

"Do you really want to go?" she asked. Her tone communicated clearly that she would make it happen if he really wanted it.

"With you?" he grinned, shaking off the sudden melancholy. "Any day. Imagine the two of us on a deserted island, Potts. The things we'd do to each other there."

"Like what?" she asked, her tone light but her eyes very, very dark.

"We'd stay awake for days, Potts – gorging on each other. I could feed you cupcakes…."

"There'd be a bakery on your deserted island?"

"Two. And a Burger King. And a sex toy shop."

Her eyebrows went up, but she nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"And we'd swim naked and have sex on the beach for hours. And talk. We'd talk. You like to talk, right?"

"Talking is good," she said.

"All night. We'd talk all night. Pack your smallest bikini and a toothbrush and let's just go."

"And not deal with tomorrow." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. I don't want to deal with tomorrow."

She squeezed his hand. "Tomorrow will be okay, Tony. You're here and I'm behind you. You know we can get through anything as long as we stick together."

"I'm barely going to see you tomorrow," he pointed out.

"But I'll be here at the end of it," she said soothingly.

"Here where?"

" _Here_ , here," she clarified. "At seven, when Happy drops you off. I was thinking pizza and beer and not-thinking and not-talking while we watch stupid TV."

She was the best. Unequivocally. Unquestionably.

"Potts," he whispered, grabbing her close, pulling her into another hug, holding onto her tightly.

"Tony, it's okay," she whispered back. "Do you really want to run away?"

"No," he sighed, burying his face into her shoulder. "Well yes, but no. I don't know. I don't want to deal with tomorrow, Potts. Everyone's going to be staring at me, waiting for me to lose my mind…."

She cleared her throat.

"Again. Or more. They're going to want me to talk about Afghanistan." He pushed out the word. "I don't want to talk about Afghanistan, Pepper. I was there, it sucked, end of story."

"End of story," she murmured.

"But I like the pizza and beer idea. I want to do that. And the island. I'll want to do that eventually."

"We will," she said to all of it. She rubbed his back gently and modulated her breathing to mimic his. Tony closed his eyes and burrowed his nose into her neck, smelling her familiar scent, breathing in concert with her.

He took a deep breath and leaned into her then relaxed, giving into the embrace like a child giving into sleep. She started to rock gently and a… _feeling_ – it was definitely a _feeling_ – swamped him, choked him. It was too much - way too much - on top of everything else. He had to right himself, get his bearings back. Revert to what had kept him safe and defended.

"Pepper, is it wrong that this is turning me on?"

"And we're done," she said, stepping away so she could properly glare at him. "Can't you ever let me have a nice moment?"

"I let you have nice moments all the time," he protested as she gathered up her presents and her cupcakes. "You covering me in chocolate was a nice moment. You enjoyed it!"

"I'm not sharing my cupcakes with you," she said marching for the door.

"But, Potts, cupcakes! You know how I feel about them."

She made a disgusted noise and set the boxes down on a semi-empty table. She took a cupcake out of the box and set it down. "Carrot cake."

Tony made a face.

"And I'm not wearing the outfit you got me," she continued, scooping up the boxes and continuing towards the door.

"But _that_ would be a nice moment, Pepper, especially if you wore it with the boots."

The door slid shut behind her and he watched her disappear up the stairs. He dropped into a chair and leaned back in it, a smile on his face, his arms clasped behind his head. "She's good to me isn't she, Jarvis?"

"Exceedingly, Sir."

"And someday I'll tell her that," he said decidedly, letting his mind wander. He didn't let himself think about the day after her birthday, about questions and deserts and caves and what it did to his stomach and his heart when he just hugged her. He made himself think about Pepper, eating a cupcake, very slowly…licking the frosting off with the point of her talented tongue, nibbling the cake, _relishing it_ ….

And, with that, all was right with his world.


	29. Tony and Pepper deal with The Anniversary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my ass. It holds the record for the most edited/drafted/changed chapter of the whole dang story.
> 
> I paraphrased the "bone" joke from _Two and a Half Men_. I sure as heck didn't write it, and I don't claim to have done so.

Tony loved Pepper naked; loved her semi-dressed, covered in soap suds and tiny clothes; loved her in modest nightgowns and sexy lingerie. Would love her in the latex catsuit he'd given her for her birthday - there was zero doubt about _that_.

But dressed - in tight jeans and one of his t-shirts, hair in a loose ponytail, barefoot, toes sliding across the tile in time to what he was pretty sure was Britney Spears (or Christina Aguilera. Possibly Lady Gaga. He could never tell them apart) - and cooking in his kitchen was good, too.

"You're hovering," she said, flipping her pony tail off her right shoulder and ladling sauce on to something that looked remarkably like pizza dough. "It's weird."

"You're making pizza," he countered, "Despite the fact that Jarvis has twenty pizza places on speed dial. _That's_ weird."

"Twenty-four," Pepper said, "And homemade pizza is better." She finally looked at him. "Are you going to stand there all night?"

"I'm enjoying the view."

She wrinkled her nose at him and returned to her task. He strode across the kitchen and wound his arms around her, melted into her side.

"Hi honey," he said. "I'm home."

"I can tell." She craned her head so she could kiss the edge of his jaw.

"You looked like you needed a hug," he said as he nuzzled his face into her hair.

"I did," she said - kindly not pointing out that he had probably needed one too. Instead, she leaned against him as she layered the toppings - meat and cheese and absolutely nothing from the vegetable family - on to the dough and sauce. He tightened his hold on her. "I had a crappy day," she sighed. "What about you, honey? How was your day?"

"It was fine," he said. She was warm and cool and she smelled of olive oil and nitrates and tomatoes and herself and he didn't want to think or talk about anything else. He closed his eyes and tipped his head into her neck - let her surround him. He was safe here; protected. The strain of the day, the memories of the desert, everything gritty and hard and relentless fell away. He took a deep breath and exhaled against her neck. "It was just a regular day in the life of Tony Stark, billionaire industrialist and world-saving superhero."

She turned in his arms - obviously she'd finished constructing the pizza – so she could press herself against him and wind her arms around his neck. "It was not just a regular day, Tony. One year ago…."

"Things happened," he interrupted her, stepping away and looking fixedly at her feet – the nails were painted red-gold; the color of her hair in sunlight; warm and familiar and home. "I know. I was there - got the fancy chest piece to show for it, don't need to revisit it."

She sighed and shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Tony's gaze lifted to where her breasts pushed out distractingly. "Tony," she said softly. "I think we need to talk about what happened in Afghanistan."

"Nope," he grabbed a piece of salami and popped it in his mouth, then looked up at her face. She looked sad and a little broken and it was unbearable. Talking about things would only make her look like that even more. He smiled brightly, convincingly. "There's nothing to discuss, Potts. I told you that. I don't need to address my feelings or my thoughts; I'm good."

"And if I'm not good?"

He reached out and pulled her into him, ground up against her a little. "Sweetheart, you are incredible. Don't worry about that."

Her muscles tensed under his hands and her eyes roamed over his face searchingly. She lowered her head and sighed ( _sad_ , _disappointed_ ) as she stepped away from him and turned back towards their dinner. "I'm putting the pizza in the oven so you have eight minutes to change."

"Into something more comfortable?" he flirted, trying to make her smile, make her stop thinking. "Miss Potts, are you going to try and take advantage of me?"

She puffed out a breath then leaned forward and kissed him gently. "We'll see."

"I won't let you get past third base," he said over his shoulder, eager to get out of the Hugo Boss and into sweats and a t-shirt. "So don't even try."

"We'll see," she said again, and he could tell she was smiling; he didn't want to think that it might not have reached her eyes.

Two hours later, Tony was still determined to _not talk about it_ and _not think about it_ and, possibly, _get drunk and make a pass at Pepper_.

Pepper, however, appeared to be determined to _stare at half-a-season's worth of Two and a Half Men_ and _ignore him_ which, while better than _talking about it_ was not as good as _getting drunk and jumping Tony_.

"The pizza was really, really good," Tony said. Again.

"Thanks," she said. Her attention was ostensibly fixed on the screen but he had the feeling it was really somewhere else entirely. He thought, once again, about asking her what was wrong - but he was pretty sure that he already knew the answer and he was definitely sure that he didn't want to hear it. Instead, he listened to the sitcom and laughed brightly, loudly at all of the right places.

"Regardless of what you may have heard, that's not an actual _bone_ , Charlie," Jon Cryer said.

Tony barked out a genuine laugh. He always appreciated a good penis joke.

Pepper's eyes cut to him significantly.

He choked the laugh away and shook his head. "Horrible," he said. "Just terrible. How do they get away with that?"

She screwed her face up, a very clear indication that she wasn't fooled at all. She raised her Lowenbrau to her lips. Tony watched in fascination as her lips wrapped around the opening of the bottle and her throat muscles worked as she swallowed the beer.

"We need to drink beer _all_ the time," he decided out loud.

"Do we?" she asked sharply.

"Yes," he said, drawing the word out.

She humphed a little and looked back at the TV and he _could not take it anymore_. "You're angry, I get that," he said, "But we don't have to fight tonight. We can fight tomorrow - or next week. How's my Tuesday?"

"Not helping, Tony."

"Jarvis, pause the show," he commanded, then shifted so he was looking at her profile dead on. "Okay, here's the deal: I know that it's you and me against the world, that we're a team. I know that I don't talk to you about things - lots of things - the way I should. I _know_ that, Pepper, I just don't like to admit it because if I admit it then I'll have to _do_ it and I don't _want_ to do it because talking about some things _sucks_ \- no matter how long it's been since they happened."

Color bled across her face and she turned to look at him. "And?"

"I need you on my side. I need you to know that I really am okay as long as you're here because I do appreciate you and you make my life easier and, well, I kind of need you around.

"I mean, it's not that I can't function on my own," he scrambled, a little worried what she'd do with such blatant comments about his needing her. Pepper had a way of using statements like that to introduce things into his life he didn't like: meetings, regular bedtimes, carrots.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips compressed into a thin line.

"It's just that things go better with you around," he hastened to add. "And, you know, they're more fun, too. Mostly."

Her eyebrows went up and he took a deep breath, told himself to man up, and said, "I can't exactly do all of this without you."

She made a humming noise and nodded her head, once. "That was impressive, Tony." She stood and looked down at him; announced, "I'm tired."

She didn't look mad, but she wasn't acting entirely pleased either. And he didn't want her to leave him alone. Not on this particular Thursday. "You can't leave yet," he blurted out. "I had plans for tonight."

"Really?" she asked, rocking back on her heels and looking him up and down. "What plans exactly?

"We were going to get drunk and make out."

"I was told that I wasn't getting past third base," she pointed out.

"If you get me drunk enough maybe you'll get lucky."

She chuckled, a real laugh, and said, "Or."

"Or what?" He liked when she gave him choices - of suits, of meetings, of activities for the evening.

"Or we could just go to bed now."

The world froze and went both blurry and white and his mouth, obviously detached from his brain, said, "Without a conference on the terms of the contract?"

"This is a limited time offer, Stark," she shot back as she sauntered off in the direction of his bedroom.

"No, it's good," he said as he fumbled to his feet. "It's a fantastic plan. Much better than mine. I like your plan."

"Good," she said, her voice drifting back from halfway down the hall. He hurried to catch up, thanking the power that looked out for moronic billionaire superheroes and made them say things that got their girlfriends to have sex with them on a weeknight.

Tony burst into his room to find his bed completely Pepper-free and the sound of running water coming from his bathroom. He followed the sound and found Pepper swishing mouthwash and staring at him in the mirror. He glanced at the counter. There was an unfamiliar toothbrush, a hairbrush with red-gold strands caught in the teeth and some fancy, female face cream near the extra sink. He recognized them all as items that usually resided in the sub's bedroom. Tony stared at them. The toothbrush was blue and had a curved handle.

He looked at her. She was staring at him, eyes wide and regarding him steadily.

He decided to go with it and started to brush his own teeth slowly - watching her in the mirror; mind racing, gears whirring - as she brushed her teeth, washed her face, took out her ponytail, brushed her hair and applied the lotion.

She looked at him, eyebrow raised - he was only on the upper left quadrant - and left. He finished brushing his teeth and hurried back into his bedroom. His Pepper-free bedroom. He frowned, then heard the very obvious closing of a drawer in his closet. Seconds later Pepper emerged in pajamas with what appeared to be koala bears on them. Tony watched her climb into his bed before he went into the closet.

The fourth drawer he opened was full of bright shorts and t-shirts and sweatpants all emblazoned with, variously, furry animals, flowers and, oddly, sushi.

"Huh," he said to the drawer and closed it.

He was in sweats and a tank - no changing was necessary for him. He went out to his room and stood at the foot of his bed. Pepper sat cross legged at the head looking defiant and vulnerable.

"When did you move into my bedroom?" he asked.

"Today," she replied. "Didn't you notice before?"

"I didn't go into the bathroom or rummage through my drawers, so no."

"Oh," she said. "How do you feel about it now that you've noticed?"

How did he feel about it? About it being just him and Pepper - no masks, no roles, no toys?

It felt like his heart was staggering. It felt like the RT was misfiring. It felt like his legs were full of water. It felt like he was going to puke up beer and pizza. It felt good.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You aren't going to redecorate, are you?"

"Well…."

"No throw pillows, no plants, no," he shuddered, "window treatments. I like the simplicity of the room."

"I like that you know what window treatments are," she grinned.

"I'm not a complete barbarian, Potts. I need you to promise: no womanly touches. Say it with me: the room is fine the way it is."

"What if I want to add equipment?"

She was baiting him, but he wasn't going to rise to it. "That's what the playroom is for - we're still going to use the playroom, right?"

She nodded avidly.

"That's what the playroom is for. Now say it."

"Fine," she said. "I won't redecorate."

He cleared his throat.

"The room is fine the way it is," she parroted dutifully. "So, how are you doing with all of this?"

She looked nervous and unsure of herself. He liked the idea that she'd taken this chance - put herself on the line without any real idea of how he'd react - because it meant that Pepper Potts could be impulsive - that she was capable of do something without consultations and meetings and contracts.

It made her more human. It made her more like _him_.

"I'm fine," he reassured her airily. "But why'd you put on clothes? I'm just going to take them off."

"It's more fun this way," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

 _Because I wanted to be dressed in case you threw me out_ , he translated. _Because I needed armor of my own if you didn't want me here like this - if you didn't want just me_.

He shrugged and motioned towards her, sweeping his hand, encompassing the room, the house, _her_. "Just to let you know, this all works for me."

She smiled. Relieved.

He walked around to what he guessed was his side of the bed - he'd never had a _side_ before - and crawled in.

She peered down at him – he peered up at her.

"You're sitting up," he observed.

"And you're lying down."

"My idea is better."

"No, it's not," she said, throwing back the covers so she could pull at the bottom of his t-shirt. He let her pull him up so she could peel the shirt off of him. "Your ideas are never better than mine. Your ideas are…," she shook her head helplessly and lowered her lips to his body.

"You're right," he said as her mouth went to the puckered, sensitive skin around the RT. "You're right. Your idea is so much better."

She huffed against his skin and pushed him onto his back.

"I was _just here_ ," he pointed out.

"And now you're there again," she said and nibbled.

His vision went sparkly for a moment and Tony's brain raced to supply his words for the sensations.

It failed utterly.

"Pepper… oh God! …okay, that's good. That. Right there. Right there."

She'd found a very sensitive spot on his stomach - right between the bottom of the RT and the top of his belly button and was fucking biting on it - and his mouth went wobbly. Pepper Potts was a biter; how had it taken him six months - _ten years and six months_ , his brain helpfully corrected - to discover that infinitely interesting factoid?

"You still with me?" she asked as her pink tongue soothed the spot she'd just attacked.

Tony opened his eyes. He was staring at the edge of the ceiling. It seemed his neck had arched back at some point.

"Yes?"

"Not too convincing, Stark," she said; her fingers were drifting lower, insinuating themselves into his sweats.

"Sti-argh!"

They'd found his cock. His very erect, very needy cock.

Pepper's fingers skated along the lines and veins; Pepper's chin rested lightly against the rise of his pubic bone; Pepper's eyes swallowed him whole.

"You don't even know," she said.

"Know what?" He'd missed something, he was sure - but it was her fault - her and her teeth and the biting and the fingers and the stroking and…he shuddered as she tugged at the head, the edge of her fingers catching and dragging.

" _Anything_."

"I know lots of things," he protested weakly, even though his brain was the consistency of oatmeal and every fluid ounce of his blood was currently racing towards his groin - determined to get in on the party going on down there.

"But you don't know about the important things," she said fiercely. She firmly tugged his pants down and took him in her mouth. In the split second before he gave himself over to sensation Tony wondered how he had managed to piss Pepper off while doing nothing more than be ambushed by her in his bed; his bed, which, somehow, had become hers as well.

"This is impo-okayokayokayyes!" Her tongue was sweeping and swirling and other s-words and it was exquisite; he was going to shoot right down her throat in seconds.

Until she stopped blowing him and slid - another very good s-word - up the length of his body.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked, cottoning on.

"A little," she acknowledged as she wriggled out of her clothes. He watched raptly. "Because you're an idiot - but you're _my_ idiot, which makes me an idiot, too."

"Very logical," he said to her breasts - he reached out and let her arch into him, filling his hands exactly. She fit just right. Then he fit just right, too, because she was at him again - had sunk down onto him, taking him into her body, stretching around him - encasing him in heat and wet and PepperPepperhisPepper.

She set a punishing pace, riding him hard and fast - desperation arching off of her - the need to be closerclosercloser.

"Pepper," he whispered. This was about the day, he realized, about what he didn't want to talk about or think about. "I'm here," he panted out, determined that she _know_ that.

She stared at him, nodded tightly, closed her eyes and increased the pace, driving, driving, making and molding and demanding. He pistoned up, meeting her with force and velocity and she screamed out his name - his real name - and it triggered his own climax, made him call her name over and over.

She was a welcome weight on his chest minutes later; a welcome weight grounding him.

"Better now, sweetheart?" he asked into her hair.

She pushed herself off of him, their sweaty skin sticking and pulling pleasantly, and looked down at him with a face that was firm and set, hard, with eyes that were glassy. For a terrifying instant, Tony thought she was going to cry. He wasn't good with crying women – no man was. It was why they worked so hard to make sure they never had to deal with it.

"I saw the video, Tony."

She'd seen the videos before - the videos _from before_. He truly had no idea what she was talking about. He shook his head helplessly, the movement - so soon after a stunning climax - leaving him a little woozy.

 _Note to self: do not attempt movements until blood returns to all areas of the body_.

"The video the Ten Rings sent to Ob…," she cut herself off sharply, refusing to say the name. "That they sent to Mist…to _Stane_ ….I saw you and you were sitting up and your eyes were open, but you weren't _there_ , Tony. There was blood and dirt and men with guns and you…." Her eyes went unfocused, caught in the images.

He didn't know there'd been a video, but he knew when she would've seen it. "Potts, honey…."

She blinked, her eyes focusing immediately. "I wanted to kill them," she said, as violent as he'd ever heard her; even more violent than during the debacle of the _Tony Does the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders_ video. "I understood why you did what you did when you came home with the bulle…," she shuddered to a stop and Tony pulled her down against him.

"I'm here, Pepper. Promise."

"But you almost _weren't_ ," she reminded him. "I'm not doing okay, Tony - all day I was thinking, 'Tony could've been dead in the desert and I would've missed….'"

"All of the hot BDSM sex?" He was attempting to insert levity into the conversation. And prevent a deluge of female tears.

Pepper wiggled and positioned herself so she was draped across him, her chin propped up on his chest. " _You_. The real you. The you you've become. They almost took that away from me."

"I wouldn't have wanted to miss this either," he said quickly, " _Any_ of it.

"I heard you, you know," he confessed, quite without meaning too - without planning to; definitely without active cooperation between his mouth and his brain. "When I was there. They had my head in a bucket of water." Pepper bit at her lip and her fingers found his and _squeezed_ , but she didn't speak. "And I could hear you calling me, calling me back. I knew I had to stay because you needed me."

"I do," she agreed.

"And then they told me I needed to build a Jericho for them and Yinsen - he was a doctor from Gulmira, the one who operated on me and hooked me up to a battery, the one who kept me alive - and I built the RT and the suit. I wasn't going to die there, Potts. I was not…I wanted to get home - get back to you and Rhodey and Jarvis and the 'bots. I wanted to get back to my life."

"And Yinsen?"

"Didn't make it," he said, tears burning his eyes and clawing at his throat. "His family was gone and he wanted to be with them - if it weren't for him…."

She kissed the RT. "I'm very thankful for Yinsen." She tripped slightly over the unfamiliar name; he vowed to tell her all about him; wondered why he hadn't before.

"Me, too."

"See," she smiled wanly. "Talking about it isn't that bad, is it?"

"Not with you laying naked on me, no."

"You just ruined another nice moment," she pointed out, removing herself from him - he made a disgruntled noise - and pushing at him until he was lying on his side. She attached herself to his back, one arm thrown over his waist, pulling him close. Their bodies fit together comfortably, familiarly. _Safe_ , he thought again. The world left him alone when he was here.

"Was that a moment?" he asked. "Me talking about being half-drowned and hallucinating and Yinsen? You really gotta explain this moment thing to me…."

"Tony," she breathed out, sad and happy and affectionate, and it was a beautiful sound - better than the perfectly tuned transmission of a 1932 Ford Roadster, better even than American helicopters in the desert.

"I'm just saying that you could just tell me when we're having a moment, save us both the trouble."

"There are something you have to figure out for yourself, Tony," she said. "Jarvis, lights off please."

Tony squirmed back against her as the lights went out. "I just want you to know, Potts, that if you want to ravish me in my sleep, I'm okay with it."

"I won't," she said, smiling against his neck before kissing his skin gently, "And I'm not okay if you ravish me in my sleep."

"Are you sure? I think you'd li-."

"Go to sleep, Tony," she chided.

He closed his eyes and listened to her light, even breaths, laced his fingers through the petite fingers resting on his belly. "I've never slept next to anyone in this bed," he whispered. "And I haven't slept next to anyone in any bed in a really, really long time."

"I know," she said, pulling him closer.


	30. Latex play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: latex and overhead bondage.
> 
> Also, undying gratitude to teaoli and spockside for all of their help with research around Latex Care. Because latex needs _lots_ of care.

"Damn I'm good," he announced. "Like mind-blowingly good."

The corner of Pepper's mouth twitched up; he could see it even from the doorway. He paced towards her, blatantly ogling.

The latex catsuit fit her _perfectly_ \- every curve and plane and valley highlighted. It was as if her body had been immersed in oil, slippery and black. She was wearing impossibly high, black and shiny heels; they looked like they had grown from the suit. Her hair was up and he could see the long, graceful line of her neck. Her fingers pressed against her thighs. She was standing straight and tall, her head bent forward so that her eyes were fixed on the floor.

She was fully little one: perfectly submissive, completely gorgeous and entirely _his_.

He swallowed - hard - and continued, "I mean if this whole inventor slash titan-of-industry slash superhero gig doesn't work out I can fall back on a career as a stylist to the BDSM community."

Her lips twitched again and he would've bet a year's profits that her eyes were dancing while they stared at the floor.

He circled her three times, then stopped in front of her. "What happened to the boots little one?"

Her shoulders hitched towards her ears. "They didn't match, Sir, and you didn't specify…."

"It's fine," he murmured. "I like the shoes." He ran his hands down her arms, exerting pressure from her shoulders to her wrists. "How does the suit feel?"

She cut her eyes - they were definitely dancing - to his; when she spoke, her voice was low, sultry, "Slippery, tight, hot."

Tony startled. Pepper was usually much better at keeping their play personas clear - she was usually the one subtly reminding him of the limits and boundaries. Despite Thursday, she still wanted this - had asked for his instructions like she had before every one of his weekends since they'd started, and had left him to sleep alone in a lonely house with a bathroom full of her products, a drawer full of her pajamas and a bed that smelled like her.

He stepped closer to her. In the heels she had a good four inches on him but he was the Master. "Behave," he chided, leaning forward slightly so his breath slid across the shell of her ear. "I'm the Master here, young lady. I want a real answer."

"I'm sorry, Sir," she said quickly, dropping her eyes and regaining her focus.

"Try again."

"It's extremely tight," she said neutrally, staring at the floor, "And extremely warm. I had to use…," she paused, "a dressing aid on my skin before I could get it on. It stuck. I didn't like it at first, but I find it very intriguing now." She glanced up at him warily.

He nodded encouragingly. "That was much better, little one." He stepped back slightly. "So, you find it intriguing, but do you like it?"

"I do," she said quietly. "It feels incredible."

He leaned forward and ran his right hand - his _dominant hand_ \- down the length of her torso and between her legs, pushing up. She moaned softly. "I agree," he said hoarsely. "It _does_ feel incredible."

Her hand shot out towards him, trying to grab at the waistband of his jeans.

"Little one," he grunted in shock. Pepper had _never_ tried to touch him without permission during playtime. "Hands to yourself!"

"I just wanted to touch you," she said, hand still reaching.

He caught her wrist and held her still. "That's a bad touch, young lady. Look at me."

She reluctantly, slowly brought her eyes to his; she looked slightly dazed.

"What's going on with you today?" he demanded. "Where's your head? This isn't your time. This isn't our time. This is _my_ time and you need to do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it and not a minute before. You know that."

"Sorry," she mumbled, dropping her eyes back down immediately.

Tony released her wrist and she dropped it beside her thigh. "Let's review, shall we – you were deliberately provocative in a response to a question _and_ you tried to touch me without permission. I can't have that, little one." He stepped around her and opened the toy cabinet. He peeked over his shoulder. She was looking at the floor, breathing heavily.

Within minutes the coffee table was against the wall and the suspension bar was hanging off of the hook in the ceiling, the rope feeding through the pulley system.

"Come here," Tony prompted; Pepper complied instantly. He put her wrists in the straps and tightened them around her skin. "Wiggle your fingers," he commanded. She did. "Too tight?"

"No, Sir."

"Any loss of feeling?"

"No, Master."

"You tell me the _instant_ there is, understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good," he said. "Otherwise, you need to be quiet. Understand?"

She nodded once.

He left her with her hands bound to the bar and hanging down in front of her; she moved slightly, getting comfortable. He figured it would take him less than five minutes to get ready but he didn't want her hands above her head any longer than they needed to be.

He paced away from her and quickly stripped the bed, right down to the sports sheet they always left on beneath the innocuous bedding. He ran his fingers across the soft nap, his fingers catching on the minuscule loops, and peered at Pepper over his shoulder. She was watching his movements raptly.

He popped an eyebrow and grabbed the lube from the bedside stand and dropped it on the end of the bed.

"Wiggle them."

She did. He narrowed his eyes and watched the movement and skin color closely. _Still good_ , he decided before standing upright and slowly peeling off his clothes. He took his shirt off first - up and over his head, taking his time, letting the cotton brush his skin, the RT…his hair, leaving it devilishly disheveled. Her eyes widened and a slight smile played around the edges of her lips.

"Looks good, right?"

She nodded slowly, her eyes roaming from the edge of his waistband up to the top of his head and back down again before fixing on his zipper and the snap above it.

"Wanton," he observed before attacking his jeans, watching her eyes follow his fingers attentively. He took his time, sliding the button from the hole slowly before sliding the zipper down tooth by tooth. He let them gap open, reached in and pulled himself out - hard and leaking. She licked her lips.

"Not today, little one," he said. As much as he wanted her mouth on him - always wanted her ridiculously talented mouth on him - he had another plan entirely; a plan that had been altered, but not derailed, by her grabby hands.

She pouted slightly and his vision went sparkly and hot. _She doesn't know the plan_ , his brain reminded him, _just slide in between those pouting lips, Stark. She wants it. Bad_.

He shook his head slightly and refocused. Potts in latex. Potts in latex that he was dying to touch and stroke and fondle.

That was better.

He divested himself of his jeans and backed up to the bed, grabbed up the lube and popped the cap open. Her eyes fired with interest as he squeezed a dollop onto his hands and touched himself a little, teasing and taunting his own flesh, torturing Pepper. She shifted again, the restraints creaking slightly, the rope pulling taut in the pulley as she tried to get to him.

"That's not going to work," he said on a low groan as his thumb hit the edge of the head. "You're not going anywhere until I let you." He took a deep wavering breath and let go of his slick and glistening skin. He sauntered towards her, stopping a safe distance from those needy, skillful digits. He grabbed the rope, his hands scrambling slightly to gain purchase on it - note to self: _use lubricant_ after _Pepper is properly restrained_ \- and began to pull her hands and arms gently but inexorably towards the ceiling.

She breathed out unsteadily, her head swinging forward as her arms were secured above her head. He checked to make sure her elbows were slightly bent and her shoulders weren't locked.

"You okay?"

Her head came up and she nodded vigorously.

"Remember I want you to tell me if you start to lose feeling in your fingers. Keep moving them, okay."

She smiled and nodded.

"Good," he murmured, tracing the planes of her face with his fingertips. "Now, the rules: no words, no sounds, and come when you can." He grinned immoderately at her brilliant smile - little did she know what he was going to do to her - before he swooped in for a kiss that was dirty and slow, with lots of tongue. She whimpered and pressed into him, the rope slipping across the wheel audibly. He pulled back and she followed, her mouth seeking his.

"No more of that," he admonished, pacing to stand behind her - away from the temptation of her mouth. He pressed up against her, sliding his naked skin against the slippery material. She shifted, pushing back against him and he closed his eyes, just moved for long, heady minutes. Swivel, push, rut, slide, slide, slippity slide, his skin against the suit, his mouth latched onto the back of her neck, the squeaking slipping of the restraints and the rope punctuating it all.

A sharp thrust sent her falling forward, snapping him out of his latex/hormone haze. "Whoa there," he said instead of apologizing. Masters didn't apologize. He grabbed her hips and righted her. "Those heels are a menace. You should've worn the boots."

He hadn't seen the boots but he really wanted to. Next time he'd remember to give her direction about her footwear; he _needed_ her in tasteless boots.

She didn't respond, wasn't supposed to, so he set about pulling her hair free. He ran his fingers through the strands, watching, hypnotized, as it fell to her shoulders - curling and waving. "Move your fingers," he advised while stroking his nose through the red-gold strands. They were slightly stiff and smelled like watermelon.

He could hear the tiny, leathery sounds as she moved her hands; tipping his head up he could see them - still pink, still moving readily. However…it was time to move along.

Tony circled back around to face her, focusing his attention on the zipper that ran from the base of her throat to the middle of her left thigh. He undid it by millimeters, stroking restlessly over the latex with his fingers and making very sure to taste each bit of her skin as it was exposed. She'd used something slick to slide herself into the clothing and she tasted vaguely of chemicals, a not unappealing taste but definitely less enjoyable than undiluted Pepper. It was something he needed to keep in mind when he had her wear the outfit again.

She shifted restlessly under his mouth, her heels scrabbling on the floor, the suspension system creaking. He took his time with her and she was flushed and _soaking_ by the time he sank to his knees in front of her, by the time he slid a finger inside and laid his mouth over the core of her.

Her breathing was loud and frantic but she didn't make any other sounds.

"Good job," he soothed into wet and needy skin. "You're doing so well, little one." He drove his fingers into her, pushing her to her limits. She tightened around him and her breathing hitched in a very familiar way.

And he stopped, leaned back on his heels.

She swayed forward, her sudden movement arrested by the bondage.

He grabbed her waist and steadied her. Her eyes were wide, the blue almost completely swallowed by the black. He made soothing noises and stroked her belly softly, gentling her. When her breathing evened out and the trembling in her stomach subsided, he started again, hands pressed against the sleek material stretched across her taut ass, pushing her more firmly against his mouth. He pressed up into the crease of leg and cheek and bore down on her with his mouth.

Her hips snapped up and tremors began to shake her.

And he stopped. Again.

The look she gave him was the antithesis of submissive. She was angry, aroused. He was pretty sure she would happily drive a heel into his genitals if given the chance.

He moved back a bit, remembering that her hands were restrained, not her feet.

"You asked for this," he reminded her. "Told me that I could work you over longer."

She breathed very deeply and closed her eyes tightly. Her fingers flexed against the leather straps.

This time he was soft, feathering kisses and licks over her flesh, gentle stokes over her back, ass and legs. She surged towards seeking more of everything.

He didn't give it to her. 

When she was at the edge again, hovering there, weightless and waiting, he stood and undid her hands, sent her to lay on the bed, face down. She stretched out on the bed, body humming with need and covered in latex.

Yep. Worked for him.

"You're beautiful," he told her as he knelt between her ankles and slicked his cock with lube. "Gorgeous."

Her hands tightened against the sheet. He slid his body on top of hers. "Close your legs," he instructed. " _Slowly_."

She did, carefully encasing his cock between her thighs, latex slipping all over him. He reached out and grabbed her hands, pressed down and began to move.

"Fuck," he said into her ear, " _Fuck_ this feels good. You good?"

She nodded and ground down, getting friction from the sheet below her, jolting with each thrust.

"Tell me," he commanded. "Tell me, little one."

"It's good," she whimpered, keening, close; he had no one to blame but himself - he'd primed her - pushed her to the edge. Her fingers tightened against his painfully as she came. "Master. Mastermastermaster."

He liked it better when she called him Tony, but Master worked, too - anything in that breathy, broken voice worked.

"Fuck," he said again and began rutting desperately, his eyes closed and face buried in her hair, surrounded by her. The climax spiraled from his stomach outwards, sharp and hot. He may have made a very manly sound, most likely tightened his fingers against hers, definitely opened his lips and ended up with a mouthful of red hair. And came. Oh, did he come.

His first coherent thought, after, was that he was probably crushing her. He rolled off of her and onto his back; she rolled over - mirroring his position and looking at him, awestruck and astonished - chest heaving, rose and ivory and onyx.

He grabbed her hand in his, laced their fingers back together. "That was incredible."

"Very," she acknowledged breathlessly.

"Very incredible."

"Exactly."

"You were fantastic," he said, then remembered that she'd had her hands above her head for a longish time. "Are your fingers okay?" he asked, tugging her hand to his eye level. "Your hands? Your wrists?"

"They're all fine, Master," she said reassuringly.

He conducted his own examination, relieved to find the skin unmarked and unblemished. "I like latex," he said when he was done.

"Because you're not wearing it," she pointed out. "And because you didn't need thirty minutes - and almost an entire bottle of Siliglide - to get into it."

He turned his head so he could take her in - white and pink skin shining and spilling out of the unzipped black material.

Still worked for him.

"I thought you liked it."

"I did," she said, "I do." She took a deep breath. "It's a little greasy right now. And hot. Latex is very hot."

"Yeah it is," he said, pretending not to see her eyes snap as he purposely misunderstood her. "How about I order my own catsuit," he said looking at the ceiling again and waiting for his toes to stop tingling. "Share the pain, so to speak."

She squeezed his hand. "I'd be good with that."

He smiled, content to listen to her breathe and feel her hand in his and wait for his heart to stop fluttering.

Pepper, obviously, wanted to continue discussing. "You did well, you know."

He turned his head and stared at her. "Thanks. What did I do well _at_?"

"All of it," she said vaguely.

"Sweetheart, my sense of smell hasn't quite returned and I'm pretty sure I blew a vessel in my brain. If you want to continue the post-game analysis you're going to need to be clearer."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Post-ga-."

"Not relevant," he interrupted. "What exactly worked for you?"

"Overhead bondage worked for me."

"Me, too," he grinned. "Especially with you dressed like that," he shook his head slowly. "Definitely a kink for me."

She smirked knowingly. "And you pushing me, really pushing me…."

"You looked like you wanted to kill me," he pointed out.

"Only in the moment, Sir."

"I can live with that." He looked back at the ceiling and closed his eyes.

"And you were still my Master," she said quietly.

His eyes flew open and looked at her out of the corner of them. "Of course I'm still your Master. Who else would I be?"

"Well," she started.

And he got it - knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"You didn't think I was going to be able to be Masterly enough since we…since Thurs…since the other night," he stammered out, shocked, _shocked_ , that Pepper thought so little of his incredible compartmentalization abilities.

"I didn't say that," she said.

"You didn't need to," he persisted, another piece clicking in. "And that's why you went home last night."

"I didn't want to make it more difficult."

He huffed and tightened his grip on her hand. "I can keep my head where it needs to be, little one. Promise."

"I know that," she said, quickly conceding a _now_ when he started to voice a protest. "You did much better than I did," she pointed out.

"Yeah!" he said, brightening. "I did, didn't I? The new guy, the opportunistic Master, was able to keep his head in the game." He smiled triumphantly. "Damn, I'm good."

"Quite," she said witheringly. "In my defense, I didn't know what to expect - from you or from me. I never had a romantic relationship with my other Masters," she pointed out.

"They were too big and scary, weren't they?" he teased, ridiculously giddy at the thought that he was first in something again - he loved being first.

"They weren't big…."

"What a shame," he smirked glancing down to where the Stark Hot Rod lay, impressive even in flaccidity.

"Or scary," she persisted, refusing to acknowledge his adolescent jibe. "The arrangements were strictly about the play - no hazy boundaries, no movie nights or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, no conversations over Skype. Definitely no sleepovers as ourselves There was none of that."

"I liked the sleepover," he said. "I want more of them."

"I know," she replied. "You told me that yesterday at lunch."

The accompanying grin was more than a little goofy and it filled him with a warm feeling. He was pretty sure he knew what the feeling meant, but he wasn't quite ready decide for sure - not with her spread out beside him in latex, his knees still watery from a mind-blowing climax.

"It was breakfast," he corrected her. Bantering with Pepper was an Olympic sport - it didn't leave room to think about anything other than the next response.

"Just because you had cereal when I was finally able to get you out of bed at eleven-thirty doesn't make it breakfast," she said testily.

"I'd relived emotional trauma, shared my bed with an insatiable partner who rode me hard and put me away wet," he protested, "Had done everything on an absolutely insane schedule created by an absolutely insane PR department, _and_ spent the weekend before with a very domineering Domme who perpetrated all manner of unspeakable acts on my person.

"I needed my _rest_ , woman."

She made a scoffing noise but kept on grinning; the warm feeling expanded and he let it sit there in his chest, comforting and alien.

She brought his hand to her lips, mouthed over the knuckles gently.

"Your other Masters didn't know what they were missing." He hadn't meant to say it - the thought had been clear and bright in his head, but he'd planned on keeping it to himself - but his mouth had obviously had other plans.

She kissed each one of his fingers. "They didn't have a choice, Sir. I didn't want more from them."

"But you do from me?" he asked, trying to not sound desperate or needy even though he was a little of both - he desperately wanted her to say yes, _needed_ her to say yes, because as great as Playtime Pepper was, Girlfr-…Signif-… _Weekday Sleepover_ Pepper was even better.

"Evidently," she said. She tightened her hand and shifted her head so she was looking straight at him. "I want playtime and sleepovers and movie nights. All of it."

"Good," he said smiling like he was never going to stop, "That's really, really good."

Her eyebrows went up, eyes gleaming oddly, and he realized he was being overeager. Overeager was not sexy. Women - especially women like Pepper Potts - didn't like overeager. Women - _especially_ women like Pepper Potts - used overeager to their advantage.

_You're Tony motherfucking Stark_ , he reminded himself. _Act like it_.

He tugged his hand from hers and stretched luxuriously. "I'm going to be _spectacular_ at it, you know. Maybe I should write a book - _Balancing Play and Romance: Tony Stark's Guide to BDSM and Dating_."

"Latex should be cleaned soon after use," she said, rolling off the bed and heading for the bathroom.

"Or a Wikipedia article," he called after her. "I could start my own website! And I know you're rolling your eyes at me!"


	31. Breakfast and epiphanies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this, six years ago (!), Prince William was very single. Just saying.

"Potts. Potts. Potts. Potts."

She made a shushing noise, kicked at him and pushed her hand in his direction all without opening her eyes.

"Wakey wakey," he said, blowing into her face.

"No ravishing," she mumbled. "I hate you."

"No, you don't – and I don't want to ravish you currently."

She frowned slightly, eyes still closed.

"Despite the fact that you are ravishing," he added hastily – and completely sincerely, even though her hair was a wild tangle, her face flushed, her breath wasn't its usual minty-fresh self, there was gunk gluing her eyelashes together, and she had drooled a little in the night.

"Whydoyouwantmeupthenwhattimeisitletmesleep," she grunted out. She had yet to open her eyes.

She was completely adorable. Tony had spent no less than ten minutes watching her squirm and sleep and breathe, the ever more familiar and present expanding warmth in his chest expanding even more.

It was only when his brain started in on wanting to tell him what that warmth _meant_ , exactly, that he decided it was time to wake Pepper up.

"It's time to get up," he said brightly, pushing a red-gold tangle off her cheek. "You have no one to blame but yourself. You've got me hooked on regular breakfasts."

She finally opened one eye, pinioning him with baleful and bleary blue. "Jarvis, what time is it?"

"Ten minutes after six, Miss Potts. Good morning."

She grunted and opened her other eye: the better to glare at him with. "Thanks, Jarvis. Can you get the coffee going please?"

"Certainly," Jarvis replied.

Tony bounced to a sitting position. "Does that mean we're getting up?" he asked brightly.

"Tony, I told you I get to sleep an extra half hour when I'm here."

"Or we can have breakfast together," he counter-offered while tracing the slope and dip of her nose with a fingertip.

"Translated: Pepper make me breakfast." The words were cutting but her tone warm.

"Pepper, make me breakfast, _please_ ," he added. "And I'll help."

She raised skeptical eyebrows and he traced them too.

"I can nuke bacon," he pointed out. "I'm kind of an expert at it."

She rolled her eyes then rolled herself out of bed. "At least you'll be eating something other than Red Bull and leftover pizza."

"You don't eat Red Bull," he pointed out jauntily as they brushed their teeth and pulled on clothes - one of Tony's t-shirts and nothing else for Pepper; sweats and nothing else for Tony. "You drink it." He bounced up on his toes.

Pepper looked at him suspiciously.

"What?"

"Have you been drinking? Are you drunk?"

"What? Why? How? _When_? I went to bed with you last night and woke up with you this morning."

She sniffed and started for the kitchen. "You have your ways, Stark."

"Not drinking," he said keeping pace with her. "I'm just in a good mood."

"It's weird," she said shuffling a beeline to the coffee.

"It's not weird," he protested taking creamer - hazelnut - out of the Subzero and handing it to her.

"It's a little weird," she disagreed. "Nice, but _weird_. Eggs?"

"Scrambled," he requested, head still inside the fridge. He pulled out the clear box full of eggs, full-fat cream and the good cheddar from Vermont.

"Half and half," she said taking the eggs and nothing else. "Fat-free."

He made a face but she resolutely she sprayed Pam in a fry pan and turned the heat up on the custom Viking. She took a swallow of her coffee and waited.

"Food Nazi," he grumbled, trading the good cream for the watered down version and plopping it next to her. While he was there, he pressed a kiss to her cheek and pushed the cheese into her hands. "At least put cheese in the eggs."

She leaned back and turned slightly so she could gaze at him over her coffee cup, the silence extending towards a minute before she caved, smiling. "Okay, but you're grating it."

She beat the eggs while he grated the cheese. He was able to add a handful before she covered the eggs with her hand and ordered him to the microwave.

He nuked the bacon for fourteen seconds exactly - the precise amount of time needed to crisp it perfectly. The eggs smelled good - despite the lack of cream - and Pepper had them golden-brown with crisp edges by the time Tony presented her with the plate of bacon and a fork.

"Table," she said.

"Counter," he disagreed, pinning her gently against the imported-from-Europe wooden cabinets and marble counter.

"What's wrong with the table?" she asked even as she accepted a forkful of eggs - no ketchup; never ketchup - and bacon.

"I can't really feed you if we sit at the table," he pointed out, spearing more eggs directly from the frying pan and shoveling them into his own mouth. "Damn, these are good. Let's play hooky today. Call in sick and go somewhere fun."

"I have a bunch of fun stuff lined up today," she said insincerely.

Tony pressed closer to her; she grabbed a piece of bacon and crunched into it. "Your idea of fun differs wildly from my idea of fun," he pointed out.

"Not always," she said, giving him a slow, sultry smile that hit him squarely in the stomach. And several inches directly below it.

"It's all sex, sex, sex with you," he sighed dramatically. "I want to go to Disney World."

"Land."

"What?" he demanded before jamming an entire piece of bacon in his mouth.

"Disneyland is the one in California, Tony" she explained patiently, as if to a five-year-old hopped up on Christmas and sugar.

"I'm aware of the difference, Pepper," he said as he fed her more eggs. "I _meant_ Disney World."

She swallowed. "You want to fly to the other side of the country to go on rides."

"Space Mountain, The Tower of Terror, The Great Movie Ride. _Dumbo_ , Potts."

"You do realize you'd be mobbed the second you walk into the park." She popped a forkful of eggs into her mouth and began to chew triumphantly; she was sure she'd won the argument.

"Not if we were in _disguise_ ," he noted. "I could wear a baseball cap and sunglasses and you could wear mom jeans and a fanny pack."

"I most certainly could not," she said in horror.

"And a Florida t-shirt and sneakers," he continued. "You own sneakers. I've seen 'em."

"I'd be okay with the sneakers."

"And we could make out on the Dumbo ride," he persisted, bright images spinning out in his head. "And on the movie ride. It's _dark_ in there." He waggled his eyebrows at her just to see her smile.

"It's dark on Space Mountain, too," she pointed out playfully.

"There will be no making out on Space Mountain," he said solemnly. "Space Mountain is sacred, especially the Florida version - that was the _original_ , Potts."

"God, you're strange," she said affectionately.

"I prefer unique," he laughed, his mouth full of eggs; she wrinkled her nose in disgust; he opened his mouth wider.

She dropped her eyes and grabbed the fork from his fingers. "I can't believe I need to teach you table manners."

"Table manners are only for tables," he pointed out. "We're currently at a counter and my counter manners are excellent. Miss Manners asks _me_ for advice on counter manners. So, Disney…."

She eyed him warily around her coffee cup. "We could plan a trip if you'd like."

"You and me and Dumbo? I'd like. Definitely."

"Okay, then," she smiled, flushing, incandescent.

"The one in Florida?" he persisted.

"The one in Florida," she agreed.

He looked at her calculatingly. "Today?"

"Not today, Tony. In two weeks."

"One week," he counter-offered.

"Ten days."

"Seven days," he suggested.

"Tony, I know that time and schedules aren't exactly your forte, but seven days _is_ a week."

"My point exactly," he grinned, chewing voraciously. "So we're going to Disney in disguise in a week?"

"Ten days," she laughed, wiping his face off with a towel she'd conjured from somewhere and looking at him fondly. "The great Tony Stark," she said shaking her head. "If only they could see you now - hair a mess, egg and cheese in your beard - no one would recognize you."

"But no one gets to see me like this," he reminded her. "No one ever has. Just my Pepper."

She exhaled sharply and her eyes went very dark.

"What?" he asked as she pushed at him. "What'd I do now? You gotta tell me when I'm being stupid, Pepper."

She shook her head fiercely and pushed pan, plate and fork onto the stovetop then gracefully hopped onto the counter.

"You just don't know, do you?" she questioned hotly.

"Obviously not," he agreed. "You refuse to tell me things."

She shook her head again and then, suddenly, her legs were around his waist pulling him into her.

He really needed to start reviewing the surveillance videos. Maybe together he and Jarvis could figure out what the hell he was doing right. He really wanted to keep on doing it.

She bent down and he tipped his chin back. She started the kiss - lots of tongue, lots of pressure - and he responded - just as much tongue, a little less pressure - for several seconds before he pulled away, dizzy and weak-kneed.

"This is really unhygienic Potts."

"Says the man who made me give him a blowjob while he sat in that chair," she parried while motioning to the table in the center of the kitchen, the chair he'd been sitting in the first weekend….

"You were very neat," he reminded her. "There wasn't any mess."

"You need to stop talking, Tony," she said, dragging him closer.

"Yeah. Probably a good idea." It was the last thing he said for a good long while as his mouth became very involved in licking the inside of Pepper's mouth; he was determined to get past eggs and bacon and coffee, determined to get right to Pepper's own sweet, addictive taste.

Just as he achieved his goal, Pepper moved her mouth to his neck. She really did have good ideas. But Tony did, too - he busied himself with skimming his hands over the M and the T of his purloined t-shirt - the worn gray cotton and crimson letters as soft and pliable as the delightful peaks and mounds underneath them.

She moaned against his neck, the vibrations ricocheting through him electrically. He tweaked a nipple in retaliation, sliding the cotton over the hard peak, layering sensation for her. She moaned again; nibbled. He tweaked the other one. Harder.

"Yeah," she said against his neck. "Yeahyeahyeah."

Tony switched to palming her breasts – scooping and squeezing and stroking with a little pushing thrown in for variety. Her heels – her surprisingly bony heels - dug into ass and dragged him closer so she could move her attentions down to his clavicle. Tony's hands slid to her waist and held on, anchored himself there as she drove him more than a little crazy with teeth and tongue.

"Why'd you _stop_?" she demanded, peering up at him through pale eyelashes.

"Because I'm going to topple over," he retorted. "That whole area there is _very_ sensitive."

She smiled evilly – evilly and lasciviously – and attacked him anew.

He let loose with a string of epithets and dug his fingers into her hips.

"Ouch," she said, releasing his neck and batting at his white fingers. "Maybe it's time to investigate _another_ sensitive area." She shoved her hand down his pants and expertly palmed his throbbing cock.

"Gah!" he yelped, his legs buckling a bit.

"Do we need to move?" she asked sweetly; her hand kept squeezing and sliding and _twisting_.

"That's not happening," he said. He worked his hand between her legs and started his own squeezing, sliding, twisting motions.

"Yeah," she panted. "Not happening."

He looked at her, took her in – rumpled and aroused, heart-stoppingly lovely.

"God, you're cool."

Her eyes met his. "Backatcha Iron Man."

"Yes," he hissed, bucking forward. "Call me Iron Man again."

"Only if you _take me_ ," she growled, hands and feet working in concert to push his sweats out of the way.

"Oh, I'll take you," he promised as his cock sprang free and surged towards her wet warmth with the accuracy of a Jericho missile. "I'll take you right where you want to go."

"My iron stud," she giggled until the sound got caught in her throat and morphed into a needy whimper. He was inside and moving, arms caught under hers, hands pressed against her back, pushing her and pulling her and molding her and _taking_ her.

She panted out tiny breaths, her enormous eyes fixed on his face. She was his and glorious and…

 _Oh_ , he thought. _Oh_.

He could feel the precise clicking in his heart and his head as his existence shifted all around him: Pepper; him; the way numbers just made sense; the color of her eyes; Afghanistan; the curve of his house; Iron Man; Pi; the reordering of his world and how it had left _space_ for _her_.

 _Ohohohohohoh_.

"I love you," he panted and cried and professed the second the thought was born in his brain; after all if he knew, she needed to know, too.

She stilled and froze then began rocking again, thrusting towards him.

"Pepper," he said in breathless, broken syllables. "I lo-."

She kissed him, held him tight, stole breath and words. He could feel her hips rolling faster, harder; could feel her tighten around him in an irresistible rhythm; one arm was around his waist, pulling him closer, the hand of the other was on the crease of his leg and ass, finding sensitive skin with her nails.

She dug in, tightened, bucked and he was gone - losing himself in her body.

He tore his mouth from hers and rested his forehead against hers, grounding himself, trying to think.

"Pepper," he demanded, his head coming up as he remembered something that had definitely not happened when it was supposed to. "Did you come?"

"I'm _fine_ ," she said briskly.

"No," he disagreed, trying to get his fingers where he needed them to be - where she needed them to be.

"I said I'm fine," she reiterated, grabbing his wrist in her freakishly strong fingers.

"But."

"Enough of that now," she huffed, sliding away from him and getting down. "We really need to get going." Suddenly, she was very busy cleaning and washing.

"Potts," he said questioningly.

She made a soft interrogative noise and kept moving, eyes down.

"Look at me."

Her head came up but her eyes remained fixed on the remains of their breakfast. "Tony, we really need to get going. I promised Norma we'd be at SI by eight."

"So you're going to just pretend I didn't just tell you I loved you."

Her eyes met his briefly before dropping again. She grabbed the pan off of the stove. "I don't want to talk about it."

"But I do," he said plaintively. "I'm kinda at a loss here, Potts. I've never told someone I loved them before. I thought it would be better received."

She threw the pan in the sink. It clanked loudly. He wondered what kind of dent she'd left in the stainless steel.

"You told Rhodey you loved him two weeks ago."

"We'd been drinking tequila," he said without thinking, completely confused why they were discussing _Rhodey_.

She talked over him, barely listening. "And you told Norma that she was your soul mate when she brought you a burger last week."

"It was a double whopper with cheese and bacon," he pointed out, layering his words over hers. "You never let me eat them."

"You tell Happy you love him at least once a week."

"Happy needs lots of praise and he knows things, Potts - things I need him to keep to himself."

She ignored him, pushing her point. "You told Anderson that you would love him until the end of time when he showed you the new specs for the…."

"Yeah, but I meant it when I said it to you!" he said. "I really meant it. How do you not _get_ that?"

"Oh, _please_ ," she spit out. He realized that she had squeezed against the counter and looked at him, her expression one of complete vulnerability. His heart stuttered. The _RT_ stuttered. "You aren't good at relationships, Tony."

"I think we've been doing really well," he protested. "Our relationship is excellent."

She huffed. "It's a relationship based on power games and sex."

That stung, more than he would have ever expected it to. "That's not fair. It may have started that way, but you and I both know full well it's been a hell of a lot more than that since you went to New York." He stared her down. "And just because you aren't willing or able to admit that doesn't make it any less true.

"This," he waved his hand between them, "is _real_ , Pepper. It's the most real thing I've ever done - even more than Iron Man - and I really need you to stop denying it."

She folded her arms and set her jaw stubbornly. It was a version of Pepper he'd seen many, many times.

"You don't want me to mean it _do_ you?" he asked. He _hated_ this. This was why he'd avoided relationships for so long; they _hurt_.

She took a deep breath and he was forcibly reminded of her the afternoon he asked to be her Dom, the first day she delivered herself to him, that first night in his bedroom when she sat pressed against the headboard - hesitant, terrified but _determined_.

"Of course I do, genius." She drew herself up frighteningly tall and fierce. "I love you, and not the 'oh God, you just made me come' - which _didn't_ happen by the way - or 'oh God, you just brought me a cheesecake' kinds of 'I love you' - though I love you in those ways, too. I love you in lots of ways and despite yourself and your flaws and the fact that you're completely unable to maintain an adult relationship and against my better judgment I'm _in love with you_."

 _Thank God_.

He blinked at her myopically, relief blazing through him. He took several seconds to parse her words. Her being in love with him could wait - he wanted to take some time to talk about _that_. The aspersions against his character could wait, they weren't anywhere near as important as the patently unfair - and untrue - aspersions against his sexual skills.

"I tried to take care of you," he protested. "I said, 'Pepper did you come?' and tried to make sure that you did and you said you were fine."

"Not the point!"

"Just making sure we're on the same page," he grunted, grinning. "Now, about the _fact_ ," he hit the word hard, "that you're in love with me."

Her mouth tightened and she looked just like someone on their way to the electric chair.

"I like that," he purred, "It's both convenient and good. Very, very good."

"No, it's not," she spit out. "You're _Tony Stark_." She said it as if it explained everything which, before, it would have.

"New and improved," he clarified as he paced towards her. "And I do love you, and not in that whole orgasm cheesecake way but in the 'I love you even though you're kind of scary in the morning' kind of way."

"I'm scary in the morning?" she demanded. She was smiling, tentatively, anxiously, but _smiling_.

"No," he said, shaking his head slowly; he reached out - found her hands. "You're ravishing in the morning."

"You're serious," she said like she _believed_ it.

"About you being ravishing in the morning? Yes. And about loving you and loving our relationship and about being committed to you and being happy that you love me, too. Now I want you to kiss me, Potts, then tell me you love me again."

"You first," she prompted. He could feel the tension and fear flowing away, leaving certainty behind. She finally _knew_.

"Love you," he said, testing it, tasting it. "Yep. I do. And you love me. Told you: convenient. Now kiss me."

Pepper was really smiling but still not kissing. "Oh God, you're going to be completely impossible now aren't you?"

"Why, are you?" he asked curiously. "Because you'd have every right to be - this is a big thing - the world's most eligible bachelor…."

"Prince William?"

"Brat," he said affectionately, "Is off the market. You should be the smuggest person in the history of the world."

"I'm never smug," she said smugly. "And I'm never impossible. I'm determined." 

"We can spin it however you want." He tugged her closer. "I can't say no to you."

"That's not going to last," she said with a martyred air and a smile that was bigger and brighter than any he'd ever seen adorning her face.

"But we're going to," he promised. "Kiss me."

She finally did, warm and bright and loving; his heart turned over.

"I'm going to want people to know about us. That we're together," he announced when he needed to breathe.

"I think they'll know that when the paparazzi take pictures of us making out like teenagers on the Dumbo ride," she pointed out.

"We're going to be in disguise."

"We're going to tip them off."

He shivered deliciously. "God you're devious."

"And proud of it." She twined her arms around his neck. "You do realize that HR and PR are going to have fits."

"Don't care," he grinned. "And it's going to be much worse when we start our website; we're going to be the Dr. Ruth and Dr. Ruth's significant other of the BDSM community. It's going to be fantastic."

"I love you and we're not starting a website."

"I love you," he said, liking how the words felt in his mouth, how they fit there. "And we are. Iron Dom dot com is going to set the world on fire."

"You set _me_ on fire," she grinned, pushing towards him.

"You're trying to change the subject."

"Usually," she affirmed. "And for the record, this is number one."

Intrigued, confused, attention off of websites and announcements, he shook his head helplessly.

"A while back, when we were in the bathtub…."

"Mmmm, the anal sex day," he ruminated. "That was a good day…."

"You asked me what my number one experience was and I told you I didn't know yet - I hadn't had it yet. Well, this is it."

"Oh sweetheart," he murmured, pressing towards her mouth. "You should know that I'm going to give you a new number one daily." Then he swallowed her joyous laugh.


	32. Epilogue: A New Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally transferred. Whew. Boy do I miss these crazy kids....
> 
> From the original notes: Thanks to the lovely spockside, who made this better, talked me down out of the clock tower of my anxiety, and came up with new ways to tell me Tony was hot with every chapter.
> 
> And finally to azure_horizon: sorry it took me so long to finish this. Hope you enjoyed it my OP.

"What're you wearing?" he asked. The air and the ground were rushing past him as he ate up the miles separating him from home.

"What am I _wearing_?" Pepper shot back. "You've been gone for seven hours and in radio silence for five. Rhodey wasn't able to find you. _CNN_ wasn't able to find you. 

"You were up half the night fiddling with the suit and flew out of here hopped up on Red Bull and adrenaline. You shouldn't be flying, never mind running a _seven-hour_ mission."

"I do my best work hopped up and I was _needed_ ," he reminded her. "You _know_ that, but you're still angry. Why are you angry? Stop being angry and describe your outfit to me."

"Tony!"

"Okay, okay," he said placatingly. "Jarvis was supposed to be keeping you updated. Jarvis, weren't you keeping Miss Potts updated?" It was always best to blame the AI.

Jarvis's affirmative response vied with Pepper's exasperated sigh for dominance of the open line.

"It was just drug lords, Pepper…."

"With rocket launchers, Tony!"

"Jarvis!" he yelped.

"Sir…."

"Tony, you _told_ him to keep me updated."

"Yeah, about how good I was doing, not about the _weaponry_."

"I need to know about the weaponry," she said. "I need to be prepared."

"It was nothing, honey. I promise. Tell her, Jarvis."

"Mister Stark was never in any _real_ danger, Miss Potts," the AI said soothingly.

"Exactly, Pep, what Jarv said. It was a bunch of bad men who ran scared…."

Jarvis made a delicate throat-clearing sound.

"After they launched a few rockets and missiles at me, but they didn't _hit_ me - and the DEA and Federales took care of the rest. I was gone so long because the people in charge had to fight over tactics and strategy despite having me there. I even had time to help an old lady cross the street and get a kitten out of the tree while I was waiting. Are you wearing a tight sweater, Potts? Tell me you're wearing a tight sweater. A blue one. With a vee neck. And buttons that I get to unbutton when I get home."

"Tell me you're okay, Tony," Pepper said, her voice tremulous. He could picture her, waiting in the house, battling to stay calm – worried, chest heaving, eyes enormous, skin flushed, fingers twisting in the fabric of her tight, short skirt, pacing in high heels, a trickle of sweat beading in the hollow of her throat, breath coming fast and shal-.

"Stark!"

The groinal area of the suit was suddenly tight and chafing. Tony upped the thrusters even more, ignoring their whining. "I'm okay."

"And in one piece."

"One piece," he promised. "And you like my piece, don't you?"

A long, icy silence followed, broken, finally, by Jarvis. "Sir, perhaps I should not be listening to this conversation."

"It's fine, Jarvis" Pepper said, "We won't be furthering this line of discussion."

"Yes we will," Tony disagreed. "Now back to my first question: what're you wearing?"

"Tony, what time is it?"

What time? He didn't know what time it was. He was in a freaking metal suit flying north. "I don't know. Jarv, what time is it?"

"One-thirty, Sir. PM."

"One-thirty PM, Potts," Tony answered. "Describe your underwear to me. If you're not wearing underwear, please describe your footw-."

"What day is it?" she interrupted.

That he knew.

"Saturday," he said blithely. The second the answer was out of his mouth he realized what it meant. "Oh."

"Yes, _oh_ , Anthony, and since you are fine and in one piece and so obviously _energetic_ , I want you to remember that you're on _my_ time now. How long until you're home?"

"Five minutes, tops, Lady Ember," he responded, pitching his voice lower, making sure he was respectful.

"Good," she said darkly. A tendril of excited anticipation unfurled in his stomach and he pushed the suit harder.

"Sir, that is ill-advised," Jarvis said in his ear.

"So is keeping Milady waiting," Tony grinned. He could see the first glimmer of their house, the sinuous white curve of it. His Pepper, his _Lady_ , was waiting for him in there. Engines squealing and roaring and protesting, he banked down, circling twice, cutting speed and altitude until it was safe to drop inside.

He landed on the gantry and the robotic arms started their work.

"Jarvis, pause."

Stuck in the disassembling process, the suit still on, the arms keeping him stationary, Tony could only watch helplessly as his Domme stepped towards him.

She wasn't wearing a blue sweater - or a sweater of any color. It didn't matter. Tony whole-heartedly approved of the outfit she was wearing: tight black pants, an immaculately tailored white blouse accenting every extraordinary curve and valley of her torso…and the boots. The incredible, arousing, fucking tasteless and _sexy_ boots.

"Helmet off."

Jarvis complied with her request and, suddenly, Tony was looking at her with his own eyes, not through a HUD. It was a vast improvement. He could trace the subtle outline of _her_ beneath her clothing, could fully enjoy the way the leather clung to her calves and thighs.

"Anthony," she said sharply as she stepped up to him, her toes against his. Her eyes roamed his face restlessly before she sighed and let her forehead fall forward to rest against his. "You're really okay?"

"Firing on all cylinders, Ma'am. Promise," he said sincerely.

She smiled briefly, then stepped back - off the gantry and out of the way. "Resume, Jarvis." Her hands moved to rest on her hips, her feet set apart. She was commanding and sexy. Tony couldn't keep his eyes off of her.

Within seconds - no more awkward suit removal for him - he was down to the neoprene under suit. He stepped off the array and waited for instruction.

Pepper assessed him once more and, obviously satisfied that he really had been left unscathed by weapons-wielding drug lords, nodded definitively. "Okay then. Jarvis, go to sleep."

"But Ma'am…."

Tony's eyes widened slightly; Jarvis had never called Pepper "Ma'am." What the hell had been happening while he was out on missions?

"Jarvis," she said silkily.

"The diagnostics," the AI finished weakly.

Pepper's eyes flickered over Tony. The adrenaline of the mission was dissipating and, despite several very interested portions of his anatomy, he was starting to feel every second of his forty years on the planet.

"I'd say you'll be able to wake back up in thirty minutes," Pepper said.

Tony bit back a huff of outrage for two reasons, one, she was in charge and two, she was right.

Jarvis pinged off and Pepper dropped her arms and pivoted towards the doors. "Come with me."

Tony took a stumbling step off the gantry - he was _tired_ \- and did as she'd ordered. Five steps behind - so he could really appreciate the pants and the boots - he followed her through the lab and to the elevator.

"Don't pass out on me," she instructed, leaning into a corner of the lift and waiting for him to join her.

"Never," he vowed, then winced. He hadn't been given any instructions for the play.

"You're fine," she said gently. "Tell me our words."

He recited them, feeling that thrill that always accompanied settling into playtime. It was as addictive and potent as the first time he put on the suit, the first time he flew, the first time he realized she was really going to give herself to him, the first time they were truly together - just Pepper and just Tony. He would never get tired of any of it.

The ride complete, he followed her out and down the hall. There was a brief moment of confusion when she headed into their bedroom and he passed by her, bee-lining for the playroom.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

He motioned down the hallway. He still wasn't sure if he was allowed to speak; not punishing him wasn't the same thing as giving permission.

"In here," she corrected him.

He boggled at her briefly. Since they'd started having sex whenever they felt like it, playtime had been in the playroom and Tony/Pepper sex had been…pretty much everywhere else.

He followed her into the bedroom and into the bathroom, giving Fred the ficus - he'd named it two days after Pepper had moved it into the room (which was four days after he turned his entire life, and house, over to her by telling her he loved her) - a fond pat as he passed it.

In the bathroom, Lady Ember turned to him again and pointed imperiously. "That. Off."

He smiled, making sure to tilt the right side of his mouth just a bit higher than the left. He knew she liked his twisted smile.

She huffed slightly and raised her eyebrows, letting him know she knew what he was doing and that he was pushing it by doing it. He ratcheted the smile up a notch. He did so love pushing it.

"Anthony," she said warningly.

He quickly and efficiently undid the fastenings and slid the skintight material off, let it slide to the floor, pooling at his feet - black and shiny.

She made a noise at the back of her throat and paced a circle around him, touching bits of his skin - damaged, undamaged - at random. He wondered what she was thinking, wished he knew, hoped she realized how important it was to him that she be okay with all of it.

"You pass," she said finally, pressing a kiss into the nape of his neck. "Now undress me."

Tony scrambled to obey. He loved the boots - loved putting them on, feeling them dig into his ass when he was inside of her, taking them off. He took his time, knelt at her feet, fingers tugging at the complicated lacing - loosening and tugging until the boots slid off easily. He pressed kisses into her knees and ankles as they emerged. She made a pleased noise above his head, despite the fact that she hadn't given him permission to do so.

Playtime after missions was always different than regular playtime: it was more relaxed, porous; he was usually too tired to be firm and she was too happy to have him home and healthy to push him too hard. But playtime after missions was essential. He needed to come down off the high he got from the suit, needed to push himself into a different headspace. When it came to Pepper, he could push everything else aside and take care of her - as her Dom or as her sub; it was so elegant, the power exchange, so absolutely perfect.

"Anthony," she said warningly. "The rest of my clothes."

He nodded and released the calf he'd been stroking in favor of peeling the pants off of her, then the shirt, until she was nude and pale and gorgeous standing in front of him. He knelt back down in front of her, waiting for an order, a command.

She pivoted towards the shower and started the jets, waiting until they were the perfect temperature to summon him off his knees and to her side under the spray.

The water hit his muscles just right and he sagged a bit; he was completely exhausted despite having a wet and naked Pepper pressed up against him. He thought about safewording, preferring to end the session rather than disappoint her.

"I'm just cleaning you, sweetheart," she murmured into his hair - reading his mind effortlessly, like usual. "Remember, this isn't just about sex - it's about meeting each other's needs."

"Thank you," he mumbled, tensing slightly.

She brushed her lips along the curve of his neck, a movement meant to gentle not arouse. "That's good, love," she purred. "I want you to talk to me - you need to tell me where it hurts."

He loved that she always knew what he needed - and always made sure he got it.

_His Pepper_.

"My shoulders," he said. "My upper back. My arms."

She skimmed her fingers over his shoulders, pressing down where there were knots, digging in where they were particularly bad. He yelped slightly.

"No pain, no gain," she reminded him. "If it's a bad hurt you tell me right away."

He closed his eyes and let the water wash over him, let her press out the pain. Several extraordinarily uncomfortable minutes later, she slid her fingertips down the column of his spine.

"How's your back?"

"It's good," he said hastily. Even though his shoulders felt somewhat better, they were still throbbing from her not so tender ministrations.

She made a suspicious sound, but didn't push and prod, merely grabbed soap - hers; Dove, unscented; he'd grown to like how it made his skin feel - and squirted a goodly amount into a large, pink body sponge and washed his skin, carefully rinsing away the sweat of the mission. He felt her breasts, soft and firm, slide the length of his back and over his ass as she knelt behind him. His cock gave an abortive, appreciative twitch.

He was going to have to ask her to do that again - once he could fully appreciate it and do something about it.

She cleaned his legs and slid around so she could clean the tops of his feet and his shins. He leaned back against the glass slightly and let her take care of him. His Lady, pampering her pet. The thought was heady and intense.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too," she responded, standing and soaping up the sponge before tenderly cleaning the Stark Hot Rod - a job which, despite its reluctance to join the party, took both of her dexterous hands to complete.

"Okay?" she asked, dropping the sponge so she could smooth her soapy palms up his belly and chest in swirls and whorls.

"I want you," he said. "I always want you, but…."

"Shhh." She kissed him. "We are going to take a nap and then take each other. There's no hurry. I need you raring and ready to go for what I have planned."

He perked up slightly. "Can I ask what you have planned?"

"Of course," she said mischievously, moving behind him. "I won't tell you, but you can ask."

He heard a distinctive click, then the heady smell of Axe. His shampoo.

"I can't wait," he said, the sentence lost in a satisfied groan as she started to work the shampoo - with her nails; God he loved her nails - into his hair and scalp. He tipped his head back to rest against her.

"I can't move when you do that," she pointed out, pushing his head upright. "I'm taller than you, you don't need to lean back."

He grimaced and kept his mouth shut, letting himself enjoy the lather-rinse-repeat.

When she was done, she draped an arm over his shoulder and pointed at the sponge, idly eddying around the drain. "I need that, Anthony."

He leaned over to pick it up, studiously ignoring the twinge in his back and relishing the feel of her hands gliding over his ass.

"I do love your ass," she murmured, pressing her palm into his lower back and keeping him in position. She kept touching him and he wondered if he was really going to have to wait until later to be able to take her after all.

"Uh uh," she said, reading his mind again; she released him and tugged at his hip until he straightened, sponge in hand. "Nap first. I was just admiring the scenery, not initiating anything."

He bit back a sigh and passed the sponge to her. She pushed his arms over his head and guided them to brace against the glass; she proceeded to cleanse under his arms, up his biceps and triceps and forearms then down his flanks and hips. Done, she dropped the sponge again and massaged his arms, gently easing the tension and pain.

"Arms down," she prompted, spinning him to face her again. "Now your gorgeous face."

He closed his eyes dutifully as she used her fingertips to rub in some fancy, feminine facial scrub that made his skin look ten years younger.

"Done," she said, nipping his lips. "Brand-spanking clean." The word spanking piqued his interest.

He shot his eyes open. "Will there be spanking later, Lady Ember?"

"Brat," she laughed. "It's a figure of speech. Now get out. You're going to dry me off then yourself."

He did as he'd been told, grabbing the fluffy white towels that had arrived with her. They really were nicer than his old black and brown ones, even if their presence in their bathroom meant that he had to degrease in the workshop.

Pepper stepped out of the shower, water beading across her pale skin, nipples pebbling up from the change in temperature, skin rosy and glowing. He smiled happily and moved forward to rub the towel over her, drying her skin. She stood still, holding her arms out so he could reach every inch of skin. It took every bit of his extraordinary willpower not use his tongue on her.

Done with her, he dried himself and put the towel on a rack and waited.

"Hair next," she said.

Instantly he retrieved her hairdryer. This was something he'd done several times in the six weeks they'd lived together. She loved it, loved her hair being played with - it was something that had surprised and delighted him. He always liked learning new things about Pepper.

She tipped her head back and let him do his job. He'd grown adept at it. He knew how to brush out tangles, curl wisps around his fingers, fluff it just right.

He could totally be a hairdresser if the whole superhero/inventor/BDSM stylist things didn't work out for him.

Pepper made sexy little sounds, she always did, and pressed her head into his fingers. Tony tried to stay focused, fought the urge to snatch her into his arms and kiss her. Hard.

She pivoted while he was distracted, grabbing his wrist and turning off the dryer. "I think I need to get you into bed." He nodded eagerly and she frowned. "To sleep, Anthony."

"Your wish is my command, Milady," he said cheekily. She swatted his ass playfully and pointed to the bedroom.

"Off with you. Prepare the bed."

He shuffled out, past Fred, and cleared the bed of the throw pillows, bolsters and accent pillows that spilled a quarter of a way across it. Done, he threw the duvet and 1500 count Egyptian cotton sheets back and looked at Pepper. She smiled encouragingly and slid between them. Then she opened her arms to him.

"In, Anthony."

He obliged her, snuggling into the curve of her body as she covered them. They were Tetris pieces, pistons and cylinders, joints of wood.

He was sleepy and content; she looked wide awake and alert.

"Are you going to sleep, Lady?"

"Probably not."

"But you'll be bored," he noted. This was her time. She shouldn't be bored.

"No. I won't," she said firmly, pushing her fingers through his damp hair. "Besides, I didn't spend the last seven hours helping people cross the street and rescuing kittens."

She smelled good. He nuzzled closer, breathing in the smell of the curve of her neck and shoulder. "And fighting drug dealers," he reminded her.

"And fighting drug dealers," she said. "Now go to sleep, Anthony. I only have so much willpower. It would be wrong if I ravish you while you're sleeping."

"I'd be good with that," he mumbled. She chuckled softly and tightened her hold on him and he knew that he would wake up unravished. He always did.

He listened to her gentle, familiar breathing for several seconds before murmuring, "Thank you for always making sure I get just what I need."

"Happy to do it," she whispered back. "And I always will be."

"I love you," he vowed. "What're we going to do later?"

She pinched his left buttock gently. " _Go to sleep_ , Iron Boy.'

And, because she was his Lady, his little one, his PA, best friend, beloved, his Pepper, he did.

She knew what was best for him, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I laughingly call this the fic that broke me, but truth is, I have written very little since I finished it. I am moving it as-is from LJ, so if you find errors, please let me know. It was betaed by the best, but things still sneak through - especially as I had the bad habit of tweaking after my beta did her work.
> 
> AO3 has lots of tag choices. LOTS! Still, I am sure I have not tagged this as thoroughly as I should. Please let me know what tags I should add. 
> 
> The notes from LJ:
> 
> I do not live a D/s lifestyle and what I know of it comes from research and reading. I’m sure I’ve gotten a lot of things wrong, but this is what works for me as an author and for the characters I’ve borrowed.
> 
> I’m a firm believer that sex should be safe, sane, respectful and fun; that’s what I’ve tried to bring to this kinky, very much for adults, love story written for Tony/Pepper Kink at LJ. And FYI, Tony and Pepper discussed birth/disease control. Pepper is on The Pill and she knows Tony’s medical history better than she knows her own. Remember, safe and clean is best!
> 
> I apologize profusely to the OP, azure horizon, for taking her cute, quick, funny prompt and turning it into this freaking epic. I’m still not sure how the story got so thoroughly away from me.
> 
> Thanks to the Usual Suspects: the spectacular miss steph, the incredible women of Writers Anonymous, and especially the talented, patient and terrific TalesFromTheSpockside for taking on the beta duties for this monster.
> 
> I don’t own them. If I did, I wouldn’t do with them what I’ve done.


End file.
